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THE WATCHMAN 
AND OTHER POEMS 



Works b^ 



^he Watchman and other ^oems 
Anne of Green Gables 
Anne of Avonlea 
Anne of the Island 
Chronicles of Avonlea 
Kilmen^ of the Orchard 
^he Story Girl 
^he Golden Road 



THE WATCHMAN 
AND OTHER POEMS 

BY L. M. MONTGOMERY, AUTHOR OF 
"ANNE OF GREEN GABLES/ETC. 



NEW YORK: FREDERICK A. STOKES 
COMPANY : : : PUBLISHERS 



V 



Oiti 

m 16 m 



,4^ 



ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

To the following Publishers and Magazines my sin- 
cere thanks and appreciation are given for their kind per- 
mission to use the poems of which they own the copy- 
right: The Youth's Companion, Forward, East and 
West, MacLean's Magazine, The Sunday School Times, 
Zion's Herald, The Outlook, Munsey's Magazine, The 
New Idea Woman's Magazine, Smart Set, The Ladies' 
World, The Canadian Magazine, St. Nicholas, The Con- 
gregationalist and Christian World, Everybody's Maga- 
zine, The Christian Endeavor World, The American 
Messenger, The Delineator, Smith's Magazine. 



DEDICATION 

"TO THE MEMORY OF THE GALLANT 
CANADIAN SOLDIERS WHO HAVE LAID 
DOWN THEIR LIVES FOR THEIR COUN- 
TRY AND THEIR EMPIRE." 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Watchman _ ^ _ 3 

vSONGS OF SEA 

Rain Along Shore - - - - 11 

Sea Sunset - - - - ^ 13 

When the Dark Comes Down - - 14 

Harbor Moonrise - - - 16 

Before Storm - - - - 18 

On the Bay - - - - 20 

A Shore Twilight - - - - 22 

Song of the Sea-wind - - - 23 

Morning Along Shore - - - 24 

Off to the Fishing Ground - - 25 

In Port - - - - - 27 

The Gulls - - - _ 28 

Sunrise Along Shore - - - 29 

The Sea Spirit - - - 31 

Harbor Dawn - - - - 32 

My Longshore Lass - - - 33 

When the Fishing Boats Go Out - - 34 

The Bridal - - - -^ 36 

The Sea to the Shore - - - 37 

The Voyagers - - - 39 



SONGS OF THE HIILS AND WOODS 

PAGE 

Twilight and I Went Hand in Hand - - 43 

Come, Rest Awhile - - - 45 

An April Night - - - - 46 

Rain on the Hill _ _ _ 47 

For Little Things - - - - 49 

Spring Song - - - - 50 

A Day Off - - - - 51 

The Wind - - - _ 53 

The Wood Pool - - - - 54 

Down Stream - - - 55 

Echo Dell - - - - 57 

The Rovers - - - - 58 

Among the Pines - - - - 60 

A Day in the Open - - - 62 

Midnight in Camp - - - - 64 

The Hill Maples _ - _ 66 

A Summer Day - - - - 68 

September - _ _ _ 70 

In Lovers' Lane - - - - 71 

On the Hills - - - _ 7Z 

An Autumn Evening - - t- 75 

November Evening - - - 76 

Out O' Doors - - - - 7^ 

In the Days of the Golden Rod - - 79 



PAGE 

A Winter Day - - - - 80 

Twilight - - - _ 82 

The Call of the Winds - - - 83 

A Winter Dawn - ~ _ 85 

The Forest Path - - - - 86 

At Nightfall- - _ _ 87 

The Truce O' Night - - - 88 

MISCELLANEOUS 

To My Enemy _ _ _ 93 

As the Heart Hopes - - - 94 

Two Loves - - - - 96 

The Christmas Night - - - 97 

In An Old Farmhouse - _ _ 99 

A Request - - - - 101 

Memory Pictures _ _ _ 102 

Down Home - - - - 103 

The Choice - - - - 104 

Twilight in the Garden - - - 105 

My Legacy - - - - 107 

Gratitude - - - - 108 

Fancies _ _ _ _ 109 

One of the Shepherds - - - 110 

If Mary Had Known. - - - 113 

At the Long Sault - - - - 116 

The Exile - - ~ _ 120 



PAOe 

The Three Songs - - ~ - 122 

In an Old Town Garden - - 124 

The Seeker - - - - 126 

The Poet's Thought - - - 127 

The Call - - - - 128 

The Old Home Call - - - 130 
Genius ----- 132 

Love's Prayer _ _ _ 133 

The Prisoner - - - - 134 

Companioned - - - 136 

You - - - - - 137 

Unrecorded - - - - 139 

With Tears They Buried You To-day - - 142 

In Memory of Maggie - - - 144 

Realization _ _ _ _ 145 

The Garden in Winter - - - 146 

The Difference - - - - 147 

The Poet - - - _ 148 

The Mather - _^ « _ 150 

To One Hated _ _ -. 152 

While the Fates Sleep - - - 153 

The Farewell - - - 154 

The Old Man's Grave - - - 156 

Forever - - - - 157 

By An Autumn Fire - - - 158 



THE WATCHMAN 



THE WATCHMAN 

"And for fear of Him the keepers did shake and become as dead 
men." — Matthew 23 and 4. 

My Claudia, it is long since we have met, 
So kissed, so held each other heart to heart ! 
I thought to greet thee as a conqueror comes, 
Bearing the trophies of his prowess home. 
But Jove hath willed it should be otherwise — 
Jove, say I ? Nay, some mightier stranger-god 
Who thus hath laid his heavy hand on me, 
No victor, Claudia, but a broken man 
Who seeks to hide his weakness in thy love. 

How beautiful thou art! The years have brought 

An added splendor to thy loveliness. 

With passion of dark eye and lip rose-red 

Struggling between its dimple and its pride. 

And yet there is somewhat that glooms between 

Thy love and mine; come, girdle me about 

With thy true arms, and pillow on thy breast 

This aching and bewildered head of mine; 

Here, where the fountain glitters in the sun 

Among the saffron lilies, I will tell — 

If so that words will answer my desire — 

The shameful fate that hath befallen me. 

Down in Jerusalem they slew a man, 

Or god — it may be that he was a god — 

Those mad, wild Jews whom Pontius Pilate rules. 



Thou knowest Pilate, Claudia — a vain man, 
Too weak to govern such a howling horde 
As those same Jews. This man they crucified. 
I knew nought of him — had not heard his name 
Until the day they dragged him to his death; 
Then all tongues wagged about him and his deeds ; 
Some said that he had claimed to be their King, 
Some that he had blasphemed their deity ; 
'Twas certain he was poor and meanly born, 
No warrior he, nor hero ; and he taught 
Doctrines that surely would upset the world; 
And so they killed him to be rid of him — 
Wise, very wise, if he were only man, 
Not quite so wise if he were half a god ! 

I know that strange things happened when he died — 

There was a darkness and an agony. 

And some were vastly frightened — not so I! 

What cared I if that mob of reeking Jews 

Had brought a nameless curse upon their heads ? 

I had no part in that blood-guiltiness. 

At least he died; and some few friends of his — 

I think he had not very many friends — 

Took him and laid him in a garden tomb. 

A watch was set about the sepulchre. 

Lest these, his friends, should hide him and proclaim 

That he had risen as he had fore-told. 

Laugh not, my Claudia. I laughed when I heard 

The prophecy. I would I had not laughed ! 



I, Maximus, was chosen for the guard 
With all my trusty fellows. Pilate knew 
I was a man who had no foolish heart 
Of softness all unworthy of a man! 
My eyes had looked upon a tortured slave 
As on a beetle crushed beneath my tread; 
I gloried in the splendid strife of war, 
Lusting for conquest ; I had won the praise 
Of our stern general on a scarlet field; 
Red in my v^ins the warrior passion ran, 
For I had sprung from heroes, Roman born! 

That second night we watched before the tomb; 
My men were merry; on the velvet turf, 
Bestarred with early blossoms of the Spring, 
They diced with jest and laughter; all around 
The moonlight washed us like a silver lake. 
Save where that silent, sealed sepulchre 
Was hung with shadow as a purple pall. 
A faint wind stirred among the olive boughs — 
Methinks I hear the sighing of that wind 
In all sounds since, it was so dumbly sad; 
But as the night wore on it died away 
And all was deadly stillness; Claudia, 
That stillness was most awful, as if some 
Great heart had broken and so ceased to beat ! 
I thought of many things, but found no joy 
In any thought, even the thought of thee; 
The moon waned in the west and sickly grew 



Her light sucked from her in the breaking dawn — 
Never was dawn so welcome as that pale, 
Faint glimmer in the cloudless, brooding sky! 

Claudia, how may I tell what came to pass ? 
I have been mocked at when I told the tale 
For a crazed dreamer punished by the gods 
Because he slept on guard ; but mock not thou! 
I could not bear it if thy lips should mock 
The vision dread of that Judean morn. 

Sudden the pallid east was all aflame 

With radiance that beat upon our eyes 

As from noonday sun; and then we saw 

Two shapes that were as the immortal gods 

Standing before the tomb; around me fell 

My men as dead; but I, though through my veins 

Ran a cold tremor never known before, 

Withstood the shock and saw one shining shape 

Roll back the stone; the whole world seemed ablaze. 

And through the garden came a rushing wind 

Thundering a paeon as of victory. 

Then that dead man came forth ! Oh, Claudia, 
If thou coulds't but have seen the face of him! 
Never was such a conqueror! Yet no pride 
Was in it— nought but love and tenderness, 
Such as we Romans scoff at; and his eyes 
Bespake him royal. Oh, my Claudia, 
Surely he was no Jew but very god ! 



Then he looked full upon me. I had borne 

Much staunchly, but that look I could not bear! 

What man may front a god and live? I fell 

Prone, as if stricken by a thunderbolt; 

And, though I died not, somewhat of me died 

That made me man. When my long stupor passed 

I was no longer Maximus — I was 

A weakling with a piteous woman-soul. 

All strength and pride, joy and ambition gone — 

My Claudia, dare I tell thee what foul curse 

Is mine because I looked upon a god? 

I care no more for glory; all desire 
For conquest and for strife is gone from me, 
All eagerness for war ; I only care 
To help and heal bruised beings, and to give 
Some comfort to the weak and suffering. 
I cannot even hate those Jews; my lips 
Speak harshly of them, but within my heart 
I feel a strange compassion ; and I love 
All creatures, to the vilest of the slaves 
Who seem to me as brothers! Claudia, 
Scorn me not for this weakness ; it will pass- 
Surely 'twill pass in time and I shall be 
Maximus strong and valiant once again. 
Forgetting that slain god ! and yet — and yet — 
He looked as one who could not be forgot ! 



SONGS OF THE SEA 



RAIN ALONG SHORE 

Wan white mists upon the sea, 
East wind harping mournfully 
All the sunken reefs along, 
Wail and heart-break in its song, 
But adown the placid bay 
Fisher- folk keep holiday. 

All the deeps beyond the bar 
Call and murmur from afar, 
Tlaining of a mighty woe 
Where the great ships come and go, 
But adown the harbor gray 
Fisher-folk keep holiday. 

When the cloudy heavens frown, 
And the sweeping rain comes down, 
Boats at anchorage must bide 
In despite of time or tide; 
Making merry as they may 
Fisher-folk keep holiday. 

Now is time for jest and song 
All the idle shore along, 
Now is time for wooing dear, 
Maidens cannot choose but hear ; 
Daffing toil and care away 
Fisher- folk keep holiday. 



Oh, the fretted reefs may wail, 
Every man has furled his sail ! 
Oh, the wind may moan in fear, 
Every lad is with his dear! 
Mirth and laughter have their way, 
Fisher- folk keep holiday. 



12 



SEA SUNSET 

A GALLANT city has been builded far 

In the pied heaven, 
Bannered with crimson, sentinelled by star 

Of crystal even; 
Around a harbor of the twilight glowing, 
With jubilant waves about its gateways flowing. 

A city of the Land of Lost Delight 

On seas enchanted. 
Presently to be lost in mist moon-white 

And music-haunted; 
Given but briefly to our raptured vision. 
With all its opal towers and shrines elysian. 

Had we some mystic boat with pearly oar 

And wizard pilot, 
To guide us safely by the siren shore 

And cloudy islet, 
We might embark and reach that shining portal 
Beyond which linger dreams and joys immortal. 

But we may only gaze with longing eyes 

On those far, sparkling 
Palaces in the fairy-peopled skies. 

O'er waters darkling. 
Until the winds of night come shoreward roaming, 
And the dim west has only gray and gloaming. 



13 



WHEN THE DARK COMES DOWN 

When the dark comes down, oh, the wind is on the sea 

With lisping laugh and whimper to the red reef's 
threnody, 

The boats are sailing homeward now across the har- 
bor bar 

With many a jest and many a shout from fishing 
grounds afar. 

So furl your sails and take your rest, ye fisher folk 
so brown, 

For task and quest are ended when the dark comes 
down. 

When the dark comes down, oh, the landward valleys 
fill 

Like brimming cups of purple, and on every landward 
hill 

There shines a star of twilight that is watching ever- 
more 

The low, dim lighted meadows by the long, dim-lighted 
shore, 

For there, where vagrant daisies weave the grass a 
silver crown, 

The lads and lassies wander when the dark comes 
down. 



14 



When the dark comes down, oh, the children fall 

asleep, 
And mothers in the fisher huts their happy vigils keep ; 
There's music in the song they sing and music on the 

sea, 
The loving, lingering echoes of the twilight's litany, 
For toil has folded hands to dream, and care has 

ceased to frown. 
And every wave's a lyric when the dark comes down. 



15 



HARBOR MOONRISE 

There is never a wind to sing o'er the sea 

On its dimpled bosom that holdeth in fee 

Wealth of silver and magicry; 

And the harbor is like to an ebon cup 

With mother-o'-pearl to the lips lined up, 

And brimmed with the wine of entranced delight, 

Purple and rare, from the flagon of night. 

Lo, in the east is a glamor and gleam*. 
Like waves that lap on the shores of dream. 
Or voice their lure in a poet's theme ! 
And behind the curtseying fisher boats 
The barge of the rising moon upfloats, 
The pilot ship over unknown seas 
Of treasure-laden cloud argosies. 

Ere ever she drifts from the ocean's rim, 

Out from the background of shadows dim, 

Stealeth a boat o'er her golden rim; 

Noiselessly, swiftly, it swayeth by 

Into the bourne of enchanted sky, 

Like a fairy shallop that seeks the strand 

Of a far and uncharted fairyland. 



16 



Now, ere the sleeping winds may stir, 

Send, O, my heart, a wish with her. 

Like to a venturous mariner; 

For who knoweth but that on an elfin sea 

She may meet the bark that is sailing to thee, 

And, winging thy message across the foam. 

May hasten the hour when thy ship comes home? 



17 



BEFORE STORM 

There's a grayness over the harbor Hke fear on the 
face of a woman, 
The sob of the waves has a sound akin to a woman's 
cry, 
And the deeps beyond the bar are moaning with evil 
presage 
Of a storm that will leap from its lair in that dour 
north-eastern sky. 

Slowly the pale mists rise, like ghosts of the sea, in 
the offing, 
Creeping all wan and chilly by headland and sunken 
reef, 
And a wind is wailing and keening like a lost thing 
'mid the islands, 
Boding of wreck and tempest, plaining of dolor and 
grief. 

Swiftly the boats come homeward, over the grim bar 
crowding, 
Like birds that flee to their shelter in hurry and 
affright. 
Only the wild grey gulls that love the cloud and the 
clamor 
Will dare to tempt the ways of the ravining sea 
to-night. 



18 



But the ship that sailed at the dawning, manned by 
the lads who love us — 
God help and pity her when the storm is loosed on 
her track! 
O women, we pray to-night and keep a vigil of sorrow 
For those we speed at the dawning and may never 
welcome back! 



19 



ON THE BAY 

When the salt wave laps on the long, dim shore, 

And frets the reef with its windy sallies, 
xA.nd the dawn's white light is threading once more 

The purple firs in the landward valleys, 
While yet the arms of the wide gray sea 
Are cradling the sunrise that is to be. 
The fisherman's boat, through the mist afar, 
Has sailed in the wake of the morning star. 

The wind in his cordage and canvas sings 

Its old glad song of strength and endeavor, 
And up from the heart of the ocean rings 

A call of courage and cheer forever; 
Toil and danger and stress may wait 
Beyond the arch of the morning's gate, 
But he knows that behind him, upon the shore, 
A true heart prays for him evermore. 

When a young moon floats in the hollow sky, 

Like a fairy shallop, all pale and golden. 
And over the rocks that are grim and high. 

The lamp of the light-house aloft is holden; 
When the bay is like to a lucent cup 
With glamor and glory and glow filled up. 
In the track of the sunset, across the foam. 
The fisherman's boat comes sailing home. 



20 



The wind is singing a low, sweet song 

Of a rest well won and a toil well over, 
And there on the shore shines clear and strong 
The star of the homelight to guide the rover 
And deep unto deep may call and wail 
But the fisherman laughs as he furls his sail, 
For the bar is passed and the reef is dim 
And a true heart is waiting to welcome him ! 



21 



SHORE TWILIGHT 

Lo, find we here when the ripe day is o'er, 
A kingdom of enchantment by the shore ! 

Behold the sky with early stars ashine, 

A jewelled flagon brimmed with purple wine. 

Like a dumb poet's soul the troubled sea 
Moans of its joy and sorrow wordlessly; 

But the glad winds that utter naught of grief 
Make silver speech by headland and by reef. 

Saving for such there is no voice or call 
To mar the gracious silence over all — 

Silence so tender 'tis a sweet caress, 
A most beguiling and dear loneliness. 

Lo, here we find a beckoning solitude, 
A winsome presence to be mutely wooed, 

Which, being won, will teach us fabled lore, 
The old, old, gramarye of the sibyl shore! 

Oh, what a poignant rapture thus to be 
Lingering at twilight by the ancient sea! 



22 



SONG OF THE SEA-WIND 

When the sun sets over the long blue wave 

I spring from my couch of rest, 
And I hurtle and boom over leagues of foam 

That toss in the weltering west, 
I pipe a hymn to the headlands high, 

My comrades forevermore, 
And I chase the tricksy curls of foam 

O'er the glimmering sandy shore. 

The moon is my friend on clear, white nights 

When I ripple her silver way. 
And whistle blithely about the rocks 

Like an elfin thing at play; 
But anon I ravin with cloud and mist 

And wail 'neath a curdled sky, 
When the reef snarls yon like a questing beast. 

And the frightened ships go by. 

I scatter the dawn across the sea 

Like wine of amber flung 
From a crystal goblet all far and fine 

Where the morning star is hung; 
I blow from east and I blow from west 

Wherever my longing be — 
The wind of the land is a hindered thing 

But the ocean wind is free ! 



23 



MORNING ALONG SHORE 

Hark, oh hark the elfin laughter 

All the little waves along, 
As if echoes speeding after 

Mocked a merry merman's song! 

All the gulls are out, delighting 
In a wild, uncharted quest — 

See the first red sunshine smiting 
Silver sheen of wing and breast! 

Ho, the sunrise rainbow-hearted 
Steals athwart the misty brine. 

And the sky where clouds have parted 
Is a bowl of amber wine ! 

Sweet, its cradle-lilt partaking, 
Dreams that hover o'er the sea, 

But the lyric of its waking 
Is a sweeter thing to me! 

Who would drowze in dull devotion 
To his ease when dark is done. 

And upon its breast the ocean 
Like a jewel wears the sun? 

"Up, forsake a lazy pillow!" 
Calls the sea from cleft and cave, 

Ho, for antic wind and billow 
When the morn is on the wave ! 



24 



OFF TO THE FISHING GROUND 

There^s a piping wind from a sunrise shore 

Blowing over a silver sea, 
There's a joyous voice in the lapsing tide 

That calls enticingly; 
The mist of dawn has taken flight 

To the dim horizon's bound, 
And with wide sails set and eager hearts 

We're off to the fishing ground. 

Ho, comrades mine, how that brave wind sings 

Like a great sea-harp afar! 
We whistle its wild notes back to it 

As we cross the harbor bar. 
Behind us there are the homes we love 

And hearts that are fond and true, 
And before us beckons a strong young day 

On leagues of glorious blue. 

Comrades, a song as the fleet goes out, 

A song of the orient sea! 
We are the heirs of its tingling strife, 

Its courage and liberty. 
Sing as the white sails cream and fill, 

And the foam in our wake is long. 
Sing till the headlands black and grim 

Echo us back our song! 



25 



Oh, *tis a glad and heartsome thing 

To wake ere the night be done 
And steer the course that our fathers steered 

In the path of the rising sun. 
The wind and welkin and wave are ours 

Wherever our bourne is found, 
And we envy no landsman his dream and sleep 

When we're off to the fishing ground. 



26 



IN PORT 

Out of the fires of the sunset come we again to our 
own — 
We have girdled the world in our sailing under 
many an orient star; 
Still to our battered canvas the scents of the spice 
gales cling, 
And our hearts are swelling within us as we cross 
the harbor bar. 

Beyond are the dusky hills where the twilight hangs 
in the pine trees, 
Below are the lights of home where are watching 
the tender eyes 
We have dreamed of on fretted seas in the hours of 
long night-watches. 
Ever a beacon to us as we looked to the stranger 
skies. 

Hark! how the wind comes out of the haven's arms 
to greet us, 
Bringing with it the song that is sung on the ancient 
shore ! 
Shipmates, furl we our sails — we have left the seas 
behind us, 
Gladly finding at last our homes and our loves once 
more. 



27 



THE GULLS 

I 

Soft is the sky in the mist-kirtled east, 

Light is abroad on the sea, 
All of the heaven with silver is fleeced, 

Holding the sunrise in fee. 
Lo ! with a flash and uplifting of wings 

Down where the long ripples break, 
Cometh a bevy of glad-hearted things, 

*Tis morn, for the gulls are awake. 

II 

Slumberous calm on the ocean and shore 

Comes with the turn of the tide; 
Never a strong-sweeping pinion may soar, 

Where the tame fishing-boats ride! 
Far and beyond in blue deserts of sea, 

Where the wild winds are at play. 
There may the spirits of sea-birds be free — 

*Tis noon, for the gulls are away. 

Ill 
Over the rim of the sunset is blown 

Sea-dusk of purple and gold, 
Speed now the wanderers back to their own. 

Wings the most tireless must fold. 
Homeward together at twilight they flock. 

Sated with joys of the deep. 
Drowsily huddled on headland and rock — 

'Tis night, for the gulls are asleep. 

28 



SUNRISE ALONG SHORE 

Athwart the harbor lingers yet 
The ashen gleam of breaking day, 

And where the guardian cliffs are set 
The noiseless shadows steal away; 

But all the winnowed eastern sky 
Is flushed with many a tender hue, 
And spears of light are smiting through 

The ranks where huddled sea-mists fly. 

Across the ocean, wan and gray. 
Gay fleets of golden ripples come, 

For at the birth-hour of the day 

The roistering, wayward winds are dumb. 

The rocks that stretch to meet the tide 
Are smitten with a ruddy glow. 
And faint reflections come and go 

Where fishing boats at anchor ride. 

All life leaps out to greet the light — 
The shining sea-gulls dive and soar, 

The swallows whirl in dizzy flight, 
And sandpeeps flit along the shore. 

From every purple landward hill 
The banners of the morning fly. 
But on the headlands, dim and high. 

The fishing hamlets slumber still. 



29 



One boat alone beyond the bar 
Is sailing outward blithe and free, 

To carry sturdy hearts afar 

Across those wastes of sparkling sea; 

Staunchly to seek what may be won 
From out the treasures of the deep, 
To toil for those at home who sleep 

And be the first to greet the sun. 



30 



THE SEA SPIRIT 

I SMILE o'er the wrinkled blue — 

Lo! the sea is fair, 

Smooth as the flow of a maiden's hair; 

And the welkin's light shines through 

Into mid-sea caverns of beryl hue, 

And the little waves laugh and the mermaids sing, 

And the sea is a beautiful, sinuous thing! 

I scowl in sullen guise — 

The sea grows dark and dun. 

The swift clouds hide the sun 

But not the bale-light in my eyes. 

And the frightened wind as it flies 

Ruflles the billows with stormy wing, 

And the sea is a terrible, treacherous thing! 

When moonlight glimmers dim 
I pass in the path of the mist, 
Like a pale spirit by spirits kissed. 
At dawn I chant my own weird hymn, 
And I dabble my hair in the sunset's rim. 
And I call to the dwellers along the shore 
With a voice of gramarye evermore. 

And if one for love of me 
Gives to my call an ear, 
I will woo him and hold him dear. 
And teach him the way of the sea, 
And my glamor shall ever over him be; 
Though he wander afar in the cities of men 
He will come at last to my arms again. 

31 



HARBOR DAWN 

There's a hush and stillness calm and deep, 

For the waves have wooed all the winds to sleep 

In the shadow of headlands bold and steep; 

But some gracious spirit has taken the cup 

Of the crystal sky and filled it up 

With rosy wine, and in it afar 

Has dissolved the pearl of the morning star. 

The girdling hills with the night-mist cold 
In purple raiment are hooded and stoled 
And smit on the brows with fire and gold ; 
And in the distance the wide, white sea 
Is a thing of glamor and wizardry, 
With its wild heart lulled to a passing rest. 
And the sunrise cradled upon its breast. 

With the first red sunlight on mast and spar 
A ship is sailing beyond the bar. 
Bound to a land that is fair and far; 
And those who wait and those who go 
Are brave and hopeful, for well they know 
Fortune and favor the ship shall win 
That crosses the bar when the dawn comes in. 



32 



MY 'LONGSHORE LASS 

Far in the mellow western sky, 
Above the restless harbor bar, 

A beacon on the coast of night, 

Shines out a calm, white evening star; 

But your deep eyes, my 'longshore lass, 
Are brighter, clearer far. 

The glory of the sunset past 

Still gleams upon the water there, 

But all its splendor cannot match 

The wind-blown brightness of your hair ; 

Not any sea-maid's floating locks 
Of gold are half so fair. 

The waves are whispering to the sands 
With murmurs as of elfin glee; 

But your low laughter, 'longshore lass, 
Is like a sea-harp's melody. 

And the vibrant tones of your tender voice 
Are sweeter far to me. 



33 



WHEN THE FISHING BOATS GO OUT 

When the lucent skies of morning flush with dawning 

rose once more, 
And waves of golden glory break adown the sunrise 

shore, 
And o'er the arch of heaven pied films of vapor float. 
There's joyance and there's freedom when the fishing 

boats go out. 

The wind is blowing freshly up from far, uncharted 

caves, 
x\nd sending sparkling kisses o'er the brows of virgin 

waves. 
While routed dawn-mists shiver — oh, far and fast they 

flee. 
Pierced by the shafts of sunrise athwart the merry sea ! 

Behind us, fair, light-smitten hills in dappled splendor 
lie, 

Before us the wide ocean runs to meet the limpid sky — 

Our hearts are full of poignant life, and care has fled 
afar 

As sweeps the white-winged fishing fleet across the har- 
bor bar. 



34 



The sea is calling to us in a blithesome voice and free, 

There's keenest rapture on its breast and boundless 
liberty ! 

Each man is master of his craft, its gleaming sails out- 
blown. 

And far behind him on the shore a home he calls his 
own. 

Salt is the breath of ocean slopes and fresher blows 
the breeze, 

And swifter still each bounding keel cuts through the 
combing seas. 

Athwart our masts the shadows of the dipping sea- 
gulls float. 

And all the water-world's alive when the fishing boats 
go out. 



35 



THE BRIDAL 

Last night a pale young Moon was wed 

Unto the amorous, eager Sea; 
Her maiden veil of mist she wore 

His kingly purple vesture, he. 

With her a bridal train of stars 

Walked sisterly through shadows dim, 

And, master minstrel of the world. 

The great Wind sang the marriage hymn. 

Thus came she down the silent sky 
Unto the Sea her faith to plight. 

And the grave priest who wedded them 
Was ancient, sombre-mantled Night. 



56 



THE SEA TO THE SHORE 

Lo, I have loved thee long, long have I yearned and 
entreated ! 
Tell me how I may win thee, tell me how I must 
woo. 
Shall I creep to thy white feet, in guise of a humble 
lover ? 
Shall I croon in mild petition, murmuring vows 
anew? 

Shall I stretch my arms unto thee, biding thy maiden 
coyness, 
Under the silver of morning, under the purple of 
night ? 
Taming my ancient rudeness, checking my heady 
clamor — 
Thus, is it thus I must woo thee, oh, my delight? 

Nay, 'tis no way of the sea thus to be meekly suitor — 
I shall storm thee away with laughter wrapped in 
my beard of snow. 
With the wildest of billows for chords I shall harp 
thee a song for thy bridal, 
A mighty lyric of love that feared not nor would 
forego ! 



37 



With a red-gold wedding ring, mined from the caves 
of sunset, 
Fast shall I bind thy faith to my faith evermore, 
And the stars will wait on our pleasure, the great north 
wind will trumpet 
A thunderous marriage march for the nuptials of 
sea and shore. 



38 



THE VOYAGERS 

We shall launch our shallop on waters blue from some 
dim primrose shore, 

We shall sail with the magic of dusk behind and en- 
chanted coasts before, 

Over oceans that stretch to the sunset land where lost 
Atlantis lies, 

And our pilot shall be the vesper star that shines in 
the amber skies. 

The sirens will call to us again, all sweet and demon- 
fair. 

And a pale mermaiden will beckon us, with mist on her 
night-black hair; 

We shall see the flash of her ivory arms, her mocking 
and luring face, 

And her guiling laughter will echo through the great, 
wind-winnowed space. 

But we shall not linger for woven spell, or sea-nymph's 

sorceries. 
It is ours to seek for the fount of youth, and the gold 

of Hesperides, 
Till the harp of the waves in its rhythmic beat keeps 

time to our pulses' swing, 
And the orient welkin is smit to flame with auroral 

crimsoning. 



39 



And at last, on some white and wondrous dawn, we 

shall reach the fairy isle 
Where our hope and our dream are waiting us, and the 

to-morrows smile; 
With song on our lips and faith in our hearts we sail 

on our ancient quest, 
And each man shall find, at the end of the voyage, the 

thing he loves the best. 



40 



SONGS OF THE HILLS 
AND WOODS 



41 



TWILIGHT AND I WENT HAND IN 
HAND 

Twilight and I went hand in hand, 
As lovers walk in shining Mays, 
O'er musky, memory-haunted ways. 

Across a lonely harvest-land, 

Where west winds chanted in the wheat 

An old, old vesper wondrous sweet. 

Oh, Twilight was a comrade rare 

For gypsy heath or templed grove. 

In her gray vesture, shadow-wove ; 
I saw the darkness of her hair 
Faint-mirrored in a field-pool dim. 
As we stood tip-toe on its rim. 

We went as lightly as on wings 

Through many a scented chamber fair. 
Among the pines and balsams, where 

I could have dreamed of darling things, 

And ever as we went I knew 

The peeping fairy folk went too. 

I could have lingered now and then 
By gates of moonrise that might lead 
To some forgotten, spiceried mead, 

Or in some mossy, cloistered glen. 

Where silence, very still and deep, 

Seemed fallen in enchanted sleep. 



43 



But Twilight ever led me on, 
As lovers walk, until we came 
To hills where sunset's shaken flame 

Had paled to ashes dead and wan; 

And there, with footsteps stolen-light 

She left me to the lure of night. 



44 



COME, REST AWHILE 

Come, rest awhile, and let us idly stray- 
In glimmering valleys, cool and far away. 

Come from the greedy mart, the troubled street, 
And listen to the music, faint and sweet, 

That echoes ever to a listening ear, 
Unheard by those who will not pause to hear — 

The wayward chimes of memory's pensive bells, 
Wind-blown o'er misty hills and curtained dells. 

One step aside and dewy buds unclose 
The sweetness of the violet and the rose ; 

Song and romance still linger in the green, 
Emblossomed ways by you so seldom seen, 

And near at hand, would you but see them, lie 
All lovely things beloved in days gone by. 

You have forgotten what it is to smile 
In your too busy life — come, rest awhile. 



45 



AN APRIL NIGHT 

The moon comes up o'er the deeps of the woods, 
And the long, low dingles that hide in the hills, 

Where the ancient beeches are moist with buds 
Over the pools and the whimpering rills; 

And with her the mists, like dryads that creep 

From their oaks, or the spirits of pine-hid springs, 

Who hold, while the eyes of the world are asleep. 
With the wind on the hills their gay revellings. 

Down on the marshlands with flicker and glow 
Wanders Will-o'-the-Wisp through the night. 

Seeking for witch-gold lost long ago 
By the glimmer of goblin lantern-light. 

The night is a sorceress, dusk-eyed and dear, 

Akin to all eerie and elfin things, 
Who weaves about us in meadow and mere 

The spell of a hundred vanished Springs. 



46 



RAIN ON THE HILL 

Now on the hill 

The fitful wind is so still 

That never a wimpling mist uplifts, 

Nor a trembling leaf drop-laden stirs; 

From the ancient firs 

Aroma of balsam drifts, 

And the silent places are filled 

With elusive odors distilled 

By the rain from asters empearled and frilled, 

And a wild wet savor that dwells 

Far adown in tawny fallows and bracken dells. 

Then with a rush, 

Breaking the beautiful hush 

Where the only sound was the lisping, low 

Converse of raindrops, or the dear sound 

Close to the ground, 

That grasses make when they grow, 

Comes the wind in a gay, 

Rollicking, turbulent way. 

To winnow each bough and toss each spray, 

Piping and whistling in glee 

With the vibrant notes of a merry minstrelsy. 



47 



The friendly rain 

Sings many a haunting strain, 

Now of gladness and now of dole, 

Anon of the glamor and the dream 

That ever seem 

To wait on a pilgrim soul ; 

Yea, we can hear 

The grief of an elder year. 

And laughter half -forgotten and dear; 

In the wind and the rain we find 

Fellowship meet for each change of mood or mind. 



48 



FOR LITTLE THINGS 

Last night I looked across the hills 
And through an arch of darkling pine 

Low-swung against a limpid west 
I saw a young moon shine. 

And as I gazed there blew a wind, 

Loosed where the sylvan shadows stir, 

Bringing delight to soul and sense 
The breath of dying fir. 

This morn I saw a dancing host 

Of poppies in a garden way, 
And straight my heart was mirth-possessed 

And I was glad as they. 

I heard a song across the sea 
As sweet and faint as echoes are, 

And glimpsed a poignant happiness 
No care of earth might mar. 

Dear God, our life is beautiful 
In every splendid gift it brings, 

But most I thank Thee humbly for 
The joy of little things. 



49 



SPRING SONG 

Hark, I hear a robin calling! 

List, the wind is from the south ! 
And the orchard-bloom is falling 

Sweet as kisses on the mouth. 

In the dreamy vale of beeches 
Fair and faint is woven mist, 

And the river's orient reaches 
Are the palest amethyst. 

Every limpid brook is singing 
Of the lure of April days; 

Every piney glen is ringing 
With the maddest roundelays. 

Come and let us seek together 
Springtime lore of daffodils, 

Giving to the golden weather 
Greeting on the sun-warm hills. 

Ours shall be the moonrise stealing 
Through the birches ivory-white; 

Ours shall be the mystic healing 
Of the velvet- footed night. 

Ours shall be the gypsy winding 
Of the path with violets blue, 

Ours at last the wizard finding 

Of the land where dreams come true. 



50 



A DAY OFF 

Let us put awhile away 
All the cares of work-a-day, 
For a golden time forget, 
Task and worry, toil and fret, 
Let us take a day to dream 
In the meadow by the stream. 

We may lie in grasses cool 

Fringing a pellucid pool, 

We may learn the gay brook-runes 

Sung on amber afternoons, 

And the keen wind-rhyme that fills 

Mossy hollows of the hills. 

Where the wild-wood whisper stirs 
We may talk with lisping firs, 
We may gather honeyed bloomS 
In the dappled forest glooms, 
We may eat of berries red 
O'er the emerald upland spread. 

We may linger as we will 
In the sunset valleys still. 
Till the gypsy shadows creep 
From the starlit land of sleep, 
And the mist of evening gray 
Girdles round our pilgrim way. 



51 . 



We may bring to work again 
Courage from the tasselled glen, 
Bring a strength unfailing won 
From the paths of cloud and sun, 
And the wholesome zest that springs 
From all happy, growing things. 



52 



THE WIND 

O, WIND ! what saw you in the South, 
In lilied meadows fair and far? 

I saw a lover kiss his lass 

New-won beneath the evening star. 

O, wind! what saw you in the West 

Of passing sweet that wooed your stay? 

I saw a mother kneeling by 

The cradle where her first-born lay. 

O, wind! what saw you in the North 
That you shall dream of evermore? 

I saw a maiden keeping tryst 

Upon a gray and haunted shore. 

O, wind ! what saw you in the East 
That still of ancient dole you croon? 

I saw a wan wreck on the waves 
And a dead face beneath the moon. 



S3 



THE WOOD POOL 

Here is a voice that soundeth low and far 
And lyric — voice of wind among the pines, 

Where the untroubled, glimmering waters are, 
And sunlight seldom shines. 

Elusive shadows linger shyly here, 

And wood-flowers blow, like pale, sweet spirit- 
bloom, 
And white, slim birches whisper, mirrored clear 

In the pool's lucent gloom. 

Here Pan might pipe, or wandering dryad kneel 
To view her loveliness beside the brim, 

Or laughing wood-nymphs from the byways steal 
To dance around its rim. 

Tis such a witching spot as might beseem 
A seeker for young friendship's trysting place, 

Or lover yielding to the immortal dream 
Of one beloved face. 



54 



DOWN STREAM 

Comrades, up! Let us row down stream in this first 
rare dawnlight, 
While far in the clear north-west the late moon 
whitens and wanes; 
Before us the sun will rise, deep-purpling headland and 
islet. 
It is well to meet him thus, with the life astir in our 
veins ! 

The wakening birds will sing for us in the woods wind- 
shaken, 
And the solitude of the hills will be broken by hymns 
to the light, 
As we sweep past drowsing hamlets, still feathered by 
dreams of slumber. 
And leave behind us the shadows that fell with the 
falling of night. 

The young day's strength is ours in sinew and thew 
and muscle, 
We are filled and thrilled with the spirit that dwells 
in the waste and wold, 
Glamor of wind and water, charm of the wilderness- 
es — 
Oh, the dear joy of it, greater than human hearts 
can hold! 



55 



While the world's tired children sleep we bend to our 
oars with faces 
Set in our eager gladness towards the morning's 
gate; 
Lo, 'tis the sweet of the day ! On, comrades mine, for 
beyond us 
All its dower of beauty, its glory and wonder wait. 



56 



ECHO DELL 

In a lone valley fair and far, 

Where many sweet beguilements are, 

I know a spot to lag and dream 

Through damask morns and noons agleam; 

For feet fall lightly on the fern 

And twilight is a wondrous thing, 

When the winds blow from some far bourne 

Beyond the hill rims westering; 

There echoes ring as if a throng 

Of fairies hid from mortal eyes 

Sent laughter back in spirit guise 

And song as the pure soul of song; 

Oh, 'tis a spot to love right well. 

This lonely, witching Echo Dell ! 

Even the winds an echo know. 
Elusive, faint, such as might blow 
From wandering elf -land bugles far, 
Beneath an occidental star; 
And I have thought the blue bells lent 
A subtle music to my ear, 
And that the pale wild roses bent 
To harken sounds I might not hear. 
The tasselled fir trees softly croon 
The fabled lore of elder days. 
And through the shimmering eastern haze 
Floats slowly up the mellow moon; 
Come, heart o' mine, for love must dwell 
In whispering, witching Echo Dell. 

57 



THE ROVERS 

Over the fields we go, through the sweets of the purple 
clover, 

That letters a message for us as for every vagrant 
rover ; 

Before us the dells are abloom, and a leaping brook 
calls after. 

Feeling its kinship with us in lore of dreams and laugh- 
ter. 

Out of the valleys of moonlight elfin voices are calling ; 
Down from the misty hills faint, far greetings are 

falling ; 
Whisper the grasses to us, murmuring gleeful and airy, 
Knowing us pixy-led, seeking the haunts of faery. 

The wind is our joyful comrade wherever our free 
feet wander. 

Over the tawny wolds to the meres and meadows yon- 
der; 

The mild-eyed stars go with us, or the rain so swiftly 
flying. 

Racing us over the wastes where the hemlocks and 
pines are sighing. 



58 



Across the upland dim, down through the beckoning 

hollow — 
Oh, we go too far and fast for the feet of care to 

follow ! 
The gypsy fire in our hearts for the wilderness wide 

and luring; 
Other loves may fail but this is great and enduring. 

Other delights may pall, but the joy of the open never; 

The charm of the silent places must win and hold us 
forever ; 

Bondage of walls we leave with never a glance be- 
hind us. 

Under the lucent sky the delights of the rover shall find 
us. 



59 



AMONG THE PINES 

Here let us linger at will and delightsomely hearken 
Music aeolian of wind in the boughs of pine, 

Timbrel of falling waters, sounds all soft and sonorous, 
Worshipful litanies sung at a bannered shrine. 

Deep let us breathe the ripeness and savor of balsam, 
Tears that the pines have wept in sorrow sweet. 

With its aroma comes beguilement of things forgot- 
ten, 
Long-past hopes of the years on tip-toeing feet. 

Far in the boskiest glen of this wood is a dream and 
a silence — 
Come, we shall claim them ours ere look we long; 
A dream that we dreamed and lost, a silence richly 
hearted. 
Deep at its lyric core with the soul of a song. 

If there be storm, it will thunder a march in the 
branches. 

So that our feet may keep true time as we go ; 
If there be rain, it will laugh, it will glisten, and beckon, 

Calling to us as a friend all lightly and low.' 



60 



If it be night, the moonlight will wander winsomely 
with us, 

If it be hour of dawn, all heaven will bloom, 
If it be sunset, it's glow will enfold and pursue us. 

To the remotest valley of purple gloom. 

Lo ! the pine wood is a temple where the days meet to 
worship, 
Laying their cark and care for the nonce aside, 
God, who made it, keeps it as a witness to Him for- 
ever, 
Walking in it, as a garden, at eventide. 



61 



A DAY IN THE OPEN 

Ho, a dav 

Whereon we may up and away, 

With a fetterless wind that is out on the downs, 

And there piping a call to the fallow and shore, 

Where the sea evermore 

Surgeth over the gray reef, and drowns 

The fierce rocks with white foam; 

It is ours with untired feet to roam 

Where the pines in green gloom of wide vales make 

their murmuring home, 
Or the pools that the sunlight hath kissed 
Mirror back a blue sky that is winnowed of cloud and 

of mist! 

Ho, a day 

Whereon we may up and away 

Through the orient distances hazy and pied, 

Hand in hand with the gypsying breezes that blow 

Here and there, to and fro, 

O'er the meadows all rosy and wide, 

Where a lyric of flowers 

Is sweet-sung to the frolicking hours. 

And the merry buds letter the foot-steps of tip-toeing 

showers ; 
We may climb where the steep is beset 
With a turbulent waterfall, loving to clamor and fret! 



62 



Ho, a day 

Whereon we may up and away 

To the year that is holding her cup of wild wine ; 

If we drink we shall be as the gods of the wold 

In the blithe days of old 

Elate with a laughter divine; 

Yea, and then we shall know 

The rare magic of solitude so 

We shall nevermore wish its delight and its dreams to 

forego. 
And our blood will upstir and upleap 
With a fellowship splendid, a gladness impassioned 

and deep ! 



63 



MIDNIGHT IN CAMP 

Night in the unslumbering forest! From the free, 
Vast pinelands by the foot of man untrod, 

Blows the wild wind, roaming rejoicingly 
This wilderness of God; 

And the tall firs that all day long have flung 
Balsamic odors where the sunshine burned, 
Chant to its harping primal epics learned 

When this old world was young. 

Beyond the lake, white, girdling peaks uplift 
Untroubled brows to virgin skies afar, 

And o'er the uncertain water glimmers drift 
Of fitful cloud and star. 

Sure never day such mystic beauty held 
As sylvan midnight here in this surcease 
Of toil, when the kind darkness gives us peace 

Garnered from years of eld. 

Lo ! Hearken to the mountain waterfall 
Laughing adown its pathway to the glen 

And nearer, in the cedars, the low call 
Of brook to brook again; 

Voices that garish daytime may not know 
Wander at will along the bosky steeps, 
And silent, silver-footed moonlight creeps 

Through the dim glades below. 



64 



Oh, it is well to waken with the woods 

And feel, as those who wait with God alone, 

The forest's heart in these rare solitudes 
Beating against our own. 

Close-shut behind us are the gates of care, 
Divinity enfolds us, prone to bless, 
And our souls kneel. Night in the wilderness 

Is one great prayer. 



65 



THE HILL MAPLES 

Here on a hill of the Occident stand we shoulder to 
shoulder, 
Comrades tried and true through a mighty swath 
of the years! 
Spring harps glad laughter through us, and ministrant 
rains of the autumn 
Sing us again the songs of ancient dolor and tears. 

The glory of sunrise smites on our fair, free brows 
uplifted 
When the silver-kirtled day steps over the twilight's 
bars; 
At evening we look adown into valleys hearted with 
sunset. 
And we whisper old lore together under the smould- 
ering stars. 

Crescent moons of the summer gleam through our 
swaying branches, 
Knee-deep in fern we stand while the days of the 
sun-time go ; 
And the winds of winter love us — the keen, gay winds 
of the winter, 
Coming to our gray arms from over the plains of 
snow. 



66 



Down in the valleys beneath us is wooing and winning 
and wedding, 
Down in the long, dim valleys earth-children wail 
and weep; 
But here on these free hills we grow and are strong 
and flourish. 
Comrades shoulder to shoulder our watch of the 
years to keep. 



67 



A SUMMER DAY 
I 

The dawn laughs out on orient hills 
And dances with the diamond rills ; 
The ambrosial wind but faintly stirs 
The silken, beaded gossamers; 
In the wide valleys, lone and fair, 
Lyrics are piped from limpid air, 
And, far above, the pine trees free 
Voice ancient lore of sky and sea. 
Come, let us fill our hearts straightway 
With hope and courage of the day. 

II 

Noon, hiving sweets of sun and flower. 
Has fallen on dreams in wayside bower, 
Where bees hold honeyed fellowship 
With the ripe blossom of her lip ; 
All silent are her poppied vales 
And all her long Arcadian dales. 
Where idleness is gathered up 
A magic draught in summer's cup. 
Come, let us give ourselves to dreams 
By lisping margins of her streams. 



Ill 

Adown the golden sunset way 

The evening comes in wimple gray; 

By burnished shore and silver lake 

Cool winds of ministration wake; 

O'er occidental meadows far 

There shines the light of moon and star, 

And sweet, low-tinkling music rings 

About the lips of haunted springs. 

In quietude of earth and air 

'Tis meet we yield our souls to prayer. 



69 



SEPTEMBER 

Lo! a ripe sheaf of many golden days 
Gleaned by the year in autumn's harvest ways, 
With here and there, blood-tinted as an ember, 
Some crimson poppy of a late delight 
Atoning in its splendor for the flight 
Of summer blooms and joys — 
This is September. 



70 



IN LOVERS' LANE 

I KNOW a place for loitering feet 
Deep in the valley where the breeze 

Makes melody in lichened boughs, 
And murmurs low love-litanies. 

There slender harebells nod and dream, 
And pale wild roses offer up 

The fragrance of their golden hearts, 
As from some incense-brimmed cup. 

It holds the sunshine sifted down 

Softly through many a beechen screen. 

Save where, by deeper woods embraced. 
Cool shadows linger, dim and green. 

And there my love and I may walk 
And harken to the lapsing fall 

Of unseen brooks and tender winds. 
And wooing birds that sweetly call. 

And every voice to her will say 
What I repeat in dear refrain, 

And eyes will meet with seeking eyes. 
And hands will clasp in Lovers' Lane. 



71 



Come, sweet-heart, then, and we will stray 
Adown that valley, lingering long, 

Until the rose is wet with dew. 
And robins come to evensong, 

And woo each other, borrowing speech 
Of love from winds and brooks and birds, 

Until our sundered thoughts are one 
And hearts have no more need of words. 



72 



ON THE HILLS 

Through the pungent hours of the afternoon, 
On the autumn slopes we have lightly wandered 

Where the sunshine lay in a golden swoon 

And the lingering year all its sweetness squandered. 

Oh, it was blithesome to roam at will 

Over the crest of each westering hill, 

Over those dreamy, enchanted lands 

Where the trees held to us their friendly hands ! 

Winds in the pine boughs softly crooned, 
Or in the grasses complained most sweetly, 

With all the music of earth attuned 

In this dear ripe time that must pass so fleetly: 

Golden rod as we idled by 

Held its torches of flame on high. 

And the asters beckoned along our way 

Like fair fine ladies in silk array. 

We passed by woods where the day aside 

Knelt like a pensive nun and tender. 
We looked on valleys of purple pride 

Where she reigned a queen in her misty splendor; 
But out on the hills she was wild and free, 
A comrade to wander right gipsily. 
Luring us on over waste and wold 
With the charm of a message half sung, half told. 



73 



And now, when far in the shining west 

She has dropped her flowers on the sunset meadow, 
We turn away from our witching quest 

To the kindly starshine and gathering shadow; 
Filled to the lips of our souls are we 
With the beauty given so lavishly, 
And hand in hand with the night we come 
Back to the light and the hearth of home. 



74 



AN AUTUMN EVENING 

Dark hills against a hollow crocus sky 

Scarfed with its crimson pennons, and below 

The dome of sunset long, hushed valleys lie 

Cradling the twilight, where the lone winds blow 

And wake among the harps of leafless trees 

Fantastic runes and mournful melodies. 

The chilly purple air is threaded through 
With silver from the rising moon afar, 

And from a gulf of clear, unfathomed blue 
In the southwest glimmers a great gold star 

Above the darkening druid glens of fir 

Where beckoning boughs and elfin voices stir. 

And so I wander through the shadows still, 
And look and listen with a rapt delight, 

Pausing again and yet again at will 

To drink the elusive beauty of the night, 

Until my soul is filled, as some deep cup. 

That with divine enchantment is brimmed up. 



75 



NOVEMBER EVENING 

Come, for the dusk is our own; let us fare forth to- 
gether, 

With a quiet delight in our hearts for the ripe, still, 
autumn weather, 

Through the rustling valley and wood and over the 
crisping meadow. 

Under a high-sprung sky, winnowed of mist and 
shadow. 

Sharp is the frosty air, and through the far hill-gaps 

showing 
Lucent sunset lakes of crocus and green are glowing ; 
'Tis the hour to walk at will in a wayward, unfettered 

roaming, 
Caring for naught save the charm, elusive and swift, 

of the gloaming. 

Watchful and stirless the fields as if not unkindly hold- 
ing 

Harvested joys in their clasp, and to their broad bos- 
oms folding 

Baby hopes of a Spring, trusted to motherly keeping, 

Thus to be cherished and happed through the long 
months of their sleeping. 



76 



Silent the woods are and gray; but the firs than ever 
are greener, 

Nipped by the frost till the tang of their loosened 
balsam is keener; 

And one little wind in their boughs, eerily swaying and 
swinging, 

Very soft and low, like a wandering minstrel is sing- 
ing. 

Beautiful is the year, but not as the springlike maiden 
Garlanded with her hopes — rather the woman laden 
With wealth of joy and grief, worthily won through 

living, 
Wearing her sorrow now like a garment of praise and 

thanksgiving. 

Gently the dark comes down over the wild, fair places. 
The whispering glens in the hills, the open, starry 

spaces ; 
Rich with the gifts of the night, sated with questing 

and dreaming, 
We turn to the dearest of paths where the star of the 

homelight is gleaming. 



7J 



OUT O' DOORS 

There's a gypsy wind across the harvest land, 
Let us fare forth with it lightly hand in hand ; 
Where cloud shadows blow across the sunwarm waste, 
And the first red leaves are falling let us haste, 
For the waning days are lavish of their stores, 
And the joy of life is with us out o' doors! 

Let us roam along the ways of golden rod 
Over uplands where the spicy bracken nod, 
Through the wildwood where the hemlock branches 

croon 
Their rune-chant of elder days across the noon, 
For the mellow air its pungency outpours, 
And the glory of the year is out o' doors ! 

There's a great gray sea beyond us calling far, 
There's a blue tide curling o'er the harbor bar; 
Ho, the breeze that smites us saltly on the lips 
Whistles gaily in the sails of outbound ships; 
Let us send our thoughts with them to fabled shores, 
For the pilgrim mood is on us out o' doors ! 

Lo! the world's rejoicing in each spirit thrills. 
Strength and gladness are to us upon the hills; 
We are one with crimson bough and ancient sea. 
Holding all the joy of autumn hours in fee, 
Hope within us like a questing bird upsoars, 
And there's room for song and laughter out o' doors. 



78 



IN THE DAYS OF THE GOLDEN ROD 

Across the meadow in brooding shadow 

I walk to drink of the autumn's wine — 
The charm of story, the artist's glory, 

To-day on these silvering hills is mine; 
On height, in hollow, where'er I follow. 

By mellow hillside and searing sod, 
Its plumes uplifting, in light winds drifting, 

I see the glimmer of golden-rod. 

In this latest comer the vanished summer 

Has left its sunshine the world to cheer. 
And bids us remember in late September 

What beauty mates with the passing year. 
The days that are fleetest are still the sweetest, 

And life is near to the heart of God, 
And the peace of heaven to earth is given 

In this wonderful time of the golden-rod. 



79 



A WINTER DAY 

I 

The air is silent save where stirs 
A bugling breeze among the firs; 
The virgin world in white array 
Waits for the bridegroom kiss of day; 
All heaven blooms rarely in the east 
Where skies are silvery and fleeced, 
And o'er the orient hills made glad 
The morning comes in wonder clad ; 
Oh, 'tis a time most fit to see 
How beautiful the dawn can be! 

II 

Wide, sparkling fields snow-vestured lie 
Beneath a blue, unshadowed sky; 
A glistening splendor crowns the woods 
And bosky, whistling solitudes; 
In hemlock glen and reedy mere 
The tang of frost is sharp and clear; 
Life hath a jollity and zest, 
A poignancy made manifest; 
Laughter and courage have their way 
At noontide of a winter's day. 



80 



ni 

Faint music rings in wold and dell, 

The tinkling of a distant bell, 

Where homestead lights with friendly glow 

Glimmer across the drifted snow ; 

Beyond a valley dim and far 

Lit by an occidental star, 

Tall pines the marge of day beset 

Like many a slender minaret, 

Whence priest-like winds on crystal air 

Summon the reverent world to prayer. 



81 



TWILIGHT 

From vales of dawn hath Day pursued the Night 
Who mocking fled, swift-sandalled, to the west, 

Nor ever lingered in her wayward flight 

With dusk-eyed glance to recompense his quest, 

But over crocus hills and meadows gray 
Sped fleetly on her way. 

Now when the Day, shorn of his failing strength, 
Hath fallen spent before the sunset bars. 

The fair, wild Night, with pity touched at length, 
Crowned with her chaplet of out-blossoming stars. 

Creeps back repentantly upon her way 
To kiss the dying Day. 



82 



THE CALL OF THE WINDS 

Ho, come out with the wind of spring, 

And step it blithely in woodlands waking; 
Friend am I of each growing thing 

From the gray sod into sunshine breaking; 
Mine is the magic of twilights dim, 
Of violets blue on the still pool's rim, 
Mine is the breath of the blossoms young 
Sweetest of fragrances storied or sung — 
Come, ye earth-children, weary and worn, 
I will lead you over the hills of morn. 

Ho, come out with the summer wind. 

And loiter in meadows of ripening clover, 
Where the purple noons are long and kind. 

And the great white clouds drift fleecily over. 
Mine is immortal minstrelsy. 
The fellowship of the rose and bee, 
Beguiling laughter of willowed rills. 
The rejoicing of pines on inland hills. 
Come, ye earth-children, by dale and stream, 
I will lead you into the ways of dream. 

Ho, when the wind of autumn rings 

Through jubilant mornings crisp and golden, 

Come where the yellow woodland flings 
Its hoarded wealth over by-ways olden. 

Mine are the grasses frosted and sere, 



83 



That lisp and rustle around the mere, 
Mine are the flying racks that dim 
The lingering sunset's reddening rim, 
Earth-children, come, in the waning year, 
I will harp you to laughter and buoyant cheer. 

Ho, when the wind of winter blows 

Over the uplands and moonlit spaces. 
Come ye out to the waste of snows. 

To the glimmering fields and the silent places. 
I whistle gaily on starry nights 
Through the arch of the elfin northern lights, 
But in long white valleys I pause to hark 
Where the ring of the home-lights gems the dark. 
Come, ye earth-children, whose hearts are sad, 
I will make you valiant and strong and glad ! 



84 



A WINTER DAWN 

Above the marge of night a star still shines, 
And on the frosty hills the sombre pines 
Harbor an eerie wind that crooneth low 
Over the glimmering wastes of virgin snow. 

Through the pale arch of orient the morn 
Comes in a milk-white splendor newly-born, 
A sword of crimson cuts in twain the gray 
Banners of shadow hosts, and lo, the day ! 



85 



THE FOREST PATH 

Oh, the charm of idle dreaming 
Where the dappled shadows dance, 

All the leafy aisles are teeming 
With the lure of old romance! 

Down into the forest dipping, 
. Deep and deeper as we go, 
One might fancy dryads slipping 

Where the white-stemmed birches grow. 

Lurking gnome and freakish fairy 

In the fern may peep and hide . . . 

Sure their whispers low and airy 
Ring us in on every side! 

Saw you where the pines are rocking 
Nymph's white shoulder as she ran? 

Lo, that music faint and mocking, 
Is it not a pipe of Pan? 

Hear you that elusive laughter 

Of the hidden waterfall? 
Nay, a satyr speeding after 

Ivy-crowned bacchanal. 

Far and farther as we wander 
Sweeter shall our roaming be. 

Come, for dim and winsome yonder 
Lies the path to Arcady! 



86 



AT NIGHTFALL 

The dark is coming o'er the world, my playmate, 
And the fields where poplars stand are very still. 

All our groves of green delight have been invaded, 
There are voices quite unknown upon the hill ; 

The wind has grown too weary for a comrade, 
It is keening in the rushes spent and low. 

Let us join our hands and hasten very softly 
To the little, olden, friendly path we know. 

The stars are laughing at us, O, my playmate, 

Very, very far away in lonely skies. 
The trees that were our friends are strangers to us. 

And the fern is full of whispers and of sighs. 

The sounds we hear are not what we may share in, 
We may not linger where the white moths roam. 

We must hasten yet more swiftly, little playmate. 
To the house among the pines that is our home. 

The dark is creeping closer yet, my playmate, 
And the woods seem crowding nearer as we go, 

Oh, how very, very bold have grown the shadows, 
They may touch us as they flutter to and fro! 

The silence is too dreadful for our laughter, 
The night is very full of strange alarms. 

But it cannot hurt us now, O, little playmate, 
One more step and we are safe in mother's arms ! 



87 



THE TRUCE O' NIGHT 

Lo, it is dark, 

Save for the crystal spark 

Of a virgin star o'er the purpling lea, 

Or the fine, keen, silvery grace of a young 

Moon that is hung 

O'er the priest-like firs by the sea; 

Lo, it is still. 

Save for the wind of the hill. 

And the luring, primeval sounds that fill 

The moist and scented air — 

'Tis the truce o' night, away with unrest and care ! 

Now we may forget 

Love's fever and hate's fret. 

Forget to-morrow and yesterday; 

And the hopes we buried in musky gloom 

Will come out of their tomb. 

Warm and poignant and gay; 

We may wander wide. 

With only a wish for a guide, 

By heath and pool where the Little Folk bide. 

We may share in fairy mirth. 

And partake once more in the happy thoughts of earth. 



Lo, we may rest 

Here on her cradling breast 

In the wonderful time of the truce o' night, 

And sweet things that happened long ago, 

Softly and slow, 

Will creep back to us in delight; 

And our dreams may be 

Compact of young melody. 

Just such as under the Eden Tree, 

'Mid the seraphim's lullabies. 

Eve's might have been ere banished from Paradise. 



39 



MISCELLANEOUS 



91 



TO MY ENEMY 

Let those who will of friendship sing, 
And to its guerdon grateful be, 

But I a lyric garland bring 
To crown thee, O, mine enemy! 

Thanks, endless thanks, to thee I owe 
For that my lifelong journey through 

Thine honest hate has done for me 
What love perchance had failed to do. 

I had not scaled such weary heights 
But that I held thy scorn in fear, 

And never keenest lure might match 
The subtle goading of thy sneer. 

Thine anger struck from me a fire 
That purged all dull content away, 

Our mortal strife to me has been 
Unflagging spur from day to day. 

And thus, while all the world may laud 
The gifts of love and loyalty, 

I lay my meed of gratitude 
Before thy feet, mine enemy! 



93 



AS THE HEART HOPES 

It is a year dear one, since you afar 

Went out beyond my yearning mortal sight — 

A wondrous year ! perchance in many a star 

You have sojourned, or basked within the light 

Of mightier suns; it may be you have trod 
The glittering pathways of the Pleiades, 
And through the Milky Way's white mysteries 

Have walked at will, fire-shod. 

You may have gazed in the immortal eyes 
Of prophets and of martyrs; talked with seers 

Learned in all the lore of Paradise, 
The infinite wisdom of eternal years; 

To you the Sons of Morning may have sung, 
The impassioned strophes of their matin hymn, 
For you the choirs of the seraphim 

Their harpings wild out-flung. 

But still I think at eve you come to me 
For old, delightsome speech of eye and lip, 

Deeming our mutual converse thus to be 
Fairer than archangelic comradeship ; 

Dearer our close communings fondly given 
Than all the rainbow dreams a spirit knows, 
Sweeter my gathered violets than the rose 

Upon the hills of heaven. 



94 



Can any exquisite, unearthly mom, 
Silverly breaking o'er a starry plain. 

Give to your soul the poignant pleasure born 
Of virgin moon and sunset's lustrous stain 

When we together watch them? Oh, apart 
A hundred universes you may roam. 
But still I know — I know — your only home 

Is here within my heart ! 



95 



TWO LOVES 

One said; *Xo, I would walk hand-clasped with thee 
Adown the ways of joy and sunlit slopes 

Of earthly song in happiest vagrancy 

To pluck the blossom of a thousand hopes. 

Let us together drain the wide world's cup 

With gladness brimmed up !" 

And one said, "I would pray to go with thee 

When sorrow claims thee; I would fence thy heart 

With mine against all anguish; I would be 
The comforter and healer of thy smart; 

And I would count it all the wide world's gain 

To spare or share thy pain!" 



96 



THE CHRISTMAS NIGHT 

Wrapped was the world in slumber deep, 

By seaward valley and cedarn steep, 

And bright and blest were the dreams of its sleep; 

All the hours of that wonderful night-tide through 

The stars outblossomed in fields of blue, 

A heavenly chaplet, to diadem 

The King in the manger of Bethlehem. 

Out on the hills the shepherds lay, 
Wakeful, that never a lamb might stray, 
Humble and clean of heart were they; 
Thus it was given them to hear 
Marvellous harpings strange and clear. 
Thus it was given them to see 
The heralds of the nativity. 

In the dim-lit stable the mother mild 
Looked with holy eyes on her child. 
Cradled him close to her heart and smiled ; 
Kingly purple nor crown had he. 
Never a trapping of royalty ; 
But Mary saw that the baby's head 
With a slender nimbus was garlanded. 



97 



Speechless her joy as she watched him there, 
Forgetful of pain and grief and care, 
And every thought in her soul was a prayer ; 
While under the dome of the desert sky 
The Kings of the East from afar drew nigh, 
And the great white star that was guide to them 
Kept ward o'er the manger of Bethlehem. 



98 



IN AN OLD FARMHOUSE 

Outside the afterlight's lucent rose 

Is smiting the hills and brimming the valleys, 

And shadows are stealing across the snows; 
From the mystic gloom of the pineland alleys. 

Glamour of mingled night and day 

Over the wide, white world has sway. 

And through their prisoning azure bars, 

Gaze the calm, cold eyes of the early stars. 

But here, in this long, low-raftered room. 

Where the blood-red light is crouching and leaping, 
The fire that colors the heart of the gloom 

The lost sunshine of old summers is keeping — 
The wealth of forests that held in fee 
Many a season's rare alchemy. 
And the glow and gladness without a name 
That dwells in the deeps of unstinted flame. 

Gather we now round the opulent blaze 

With the face that loves and the heart that rejoices. 
Dream we once more of the old-time days. 

Listen once more to the old-time voices! 
From the clutch of the cities and paths of the sea 
We have come again to our own roof -tree. 
And forgetting the loves of the stranger lands 
We yearn for the clasp of our kindred's hands. 



99 



There are tales to tell, there are tears to shed, 

There are children's flower-faces and women's sweet 
laughter ; 
There's a chair left vacant for one who is dead 

Where the firelight crimsons the ancient rafter ; 
What reck we of the world that waits 
With care and clamor beyond our gates, 
We, with our own, in this witching light, 
Who keep our tryst with the past to-night? 

Ho! how the elf -flames laugh in glee! 

Closer yet let us draw together, 
Holding our revel of memory 

In the guiling twilight of winter weather; 
Out on the waste the wind is chill. 
And the moon swings low o'er the western hill. 
But old hates die and old loves burn higher 
With the wane and flash of the farmhouse fire. 



100 



A REQUEST 

When I am dead 

I would that ye make my bed 

On that low-lying, windy waste by the sea, 

Where the silvery grasses rustle and lisp ; 

There, where the crisp 

Foam-flakes shall fly over me, 

And murmurs creep 

From the ancient heart of the deep, 

Lulling me ever, I shall most sweetly sleep. 

While the eerie sea-folk croon 

On the long dim shore by the light of a waning moon. 

I shall not hear 
Clamor of young life anear, 
Voices of gladness to stir an unrest; 
Only the wandering mists of the sea 
Shall companion me ; 
Only the wind in its quest 
Shall come where I lie. 
Or the rain from the brooding sky 
With furtive footstep shall pass me by. 
And never a dream of the earth 

Shall break on my slumber with lure of an out-lived 
mirth. 



101 



MEMORY PICTURES 

I 

A WIDE-SPRING meadow in a rosy dawn 
Bedropt with virgin buds; an orient sky 

Fleeced with a dappled cloud but half withdrawn; 
A mad wind blowing by, 

O'er slopes of rippling grass and glens apart; 
A brackened path to a wild-woodland place 
A limpid pool with a fair, laughing face 

Mirrored within its heart. 

II 

An ancient garden brimmed with summer sun 

Upon a still and slumberous afternoon; 
Old walks and pleasances with shadows spun 

Where honeyed odors swoon; 
A velvet turf with blossoms garlanded; 

A hedge of Mary-lilies white and tall; 

And, shining out against a lichened wall, 
A stately-golden head. 

Ill 
An autumn hilltop in the sunset hue. 

Pine boughs uptossed against the crystal west, 
And, girdled with the twilight dim and blue, 

A valley peace-possessed; 
A high-sprung heaven stained with colors rare, 

A sheen of moonrise on the sea a>far. 

And, bright and soft as any glimmering star, 
Eyes holy as a prayer. 

102 



DOWN HOME 

Down home to-night the moonshine falls 
Across a hill with daisies pied, 

The pear tree by the garden gate 
Beckons with white arms like a bride. 

A savor as of trampled fern 

Along the whispering meadow stirs, 

And, beacon of immortal love, 
A light is shining through the firs. 

To my old gable window creeps 

The night wind with a sigh and song. 

And, weaving ancient sorceries. 

Thereto the gleeful moonbeams throng. 

Beside the open kitchen door 
My mother stands all lovingly. 

And o'er the pathways of the dark 
She sends a yearning thought to me. 

It seeks and finds my answering heart 
Which shall no more be peace-possessed 

Until I reach her empty arms 

And lay my head upon her breast. 



103 



THE CHOICE 

Life, come to me in no pale guise and ashen, 

I care not for thee in such placid fashion! 

I would share widely, Life, 

In all thy joy and strife, 

Would sound thy deeps and reach thy highest passion, 

With thy delight and with thy suffering rife. 

Whether I bide with thee in cot or palace, 

I would drink deeply. Life, of thy great chalice, 

Even to its bitter lees — 

Yea, shrinking not from these, 

Since out of bitterness come strength and solace 

And wisdom is not won in slumberous ease. 

Wan peace, uncolored days, were a poor favor ; 

To lack great pain and love were to lack savor. 

Life, take the heart of me 

And fill it brimmingly, 

No matter with what poignant brew or flavor. 

So that it may not shrunk and empty be. 

Yea, Life, thus would I live, nor play at living. 

The best of me for thy best gladly giving. 

With an unfaltering cheer. 

Greeting thee year by year. 

Even in thy dourest mood some good achieving. 

Until I read thy deep-hid meaning clear. 



104 



TWILIGHT IN THE GARDEN 

The scent of the earth is moist and good 

In the dewy shade 

Of the tall, dark poplars whose slender tops 

Against the sunset bloom are laid, 

And a robin is whistling in the copse 

By the dim spruce wood. 

The west wind blowing o'er branch and flower 

Out of the wold, 

Steals through the honeysuckle bower 

And bears away on its airy wings 

Odors that breath of paradise; 

Dim are the poppies' splendid dyes, 

But many a pallid primrose swings 

Its lamp of gold. 

A white moth flits from tree to tree 

Like a wandering soul; 

Deep in the lily a muffled boom 

Tells of a honey-drunken bee 

Wildered with sweets in that ivory bowl; 

Many a subtle melody, 

Many a rare sound all unknown 

To the lusty daylight's fuller tone 

Threads with its magic this hush and gloom. 



K)i5 



Many a dear thought deep in the heart, 
Many a memory, dulcet and fine. 
Wakes as we walk in the garden to-night. 
In this soft kissing of dark and light. 
When the world has drawn itself apart 
From our spirit's shrine. 



106 



MY LEGACY 

My friend has gone away from me 
From shadow into perfect light, 
But leaving a sweet legacy. 

My heart shall hold it long in fee — 
A grand ideal, calm and bright, 
A song of hope for ministry, 

A faith of unstained purity, 

A thought of beauty for delight — 

These did my friend bequeath to me ; 

And, more than even these can be, 
The worthy pattern of a white, 
Unmarred life lived most graciously. 

Dear comrade, loyal thanks to thee 
Who now hath fared beyond my sight, 
My friend has gone away from me. 
But leaving a sweet legacy. 



107 



GRATITUDE 

I THANK thee, friend, for the beautiful thought 
That in words well chosen thou gavest to me, 
Deep in the life of my soul it has wrought 

With its own rare essence to ever imbue me, 
To gleam like a star over devious ways, 
To bloom like a flower on the drearest days — 
Better such gift from thee to me 
Than gold of the hills or pearls of the sea. 

For the luster of jewels and gold may depart, 
And they have in them no life of the giver. 

But this gracious gift from thy heart to my heart 
Shall witness to me of thy love forever; 

Yea, it shall always abide with me 

As a part of my immortality ; 

For a beautiful thought is a thing divine. 

So I thank thee, oh, friend, for this gift of thine. 



108 



FANCIES 

Surely the flowers of a hundred springs 
Are simply the souls of beautiful things ! 

The poppies aflame with gold and red 

Were the kisses of lovers in days that are fled. 

The purple pansies with dew-drops pearled 
Were the rainbow dreams of a youngling world. 

The lily, white as a star apart, 

Was the first pure prayer of a virgin heart. 

The daisies that dance and twinkle so 
Were the laughter of children in long ago. 

The sweetness of all true friendship yet 
Lives in the breath of the mignonette. 

To the white narcissus there must belong 
The very delight of a maiden's song. 

And the rose, all flowers of the earth above, 
Was a perfect, rapturous thought of love. 

Oh! surely the blossoms of all the springs 
Must be the souls of beautiful things. 



109 



ONE OF THE SHEPHERDS 

We were out on the hills that night 

To watch our sheep ; 

Drowsily by the fire we lay 

Where the waning flame did flicker and leap, 

And some were weary and half asleep, 

And some talked low of their flocks and the fright 

Of a lion that day. 

But I had drawn from the others apart; 
I was only a lad, 

And the night's great silence so filled my heart 
That I dared not talk and I dared not jest; 
The moon had gone down behind the hill 
And even the wind of the desert was still ; 
As the touch of death the air was cold. 
And the world seemed all outworn and old ; 
Yet a poignant delight in my soul was guest. 
And I could not be sad. 

Still were my thoughts the thoughts of youth 

Under the skies: 

I dreamed of the holy and tender truth 

That shone for me in my mother's eyes; 

Of my little sister's innocent grace. 

And the mirthful lure in the olive face 

Of a maid I had seen at the well that day, 

Singing low as I passed that way, 

And so sweet and wild were the notes of her song, 

That I listened long. 

110 



Was it the dawn that silvered and broke 
Over the hill? 

Each at the other looked in amaze, 
And never a breathless word we spoke. 
Fast into rose and daffodil 
Deepened that splendor; athwart its blaze 
That pierced like a sword the gulf of night 
We saw a form that was shaped of the light, 
And we veiled our faces in awe and dread 
To hearken the tidings the Bright One told — 
Oh! wonderful were the words he said — 
Of a Child in Bethlehem's manger old. 

The stars were drowned in that orient glow ; 
The sky was abloom like a meadow in spring; 
But each blossom there was a radiant face 
And each flash of glory a shining wing; 
They harped of peace and great good will, 
And such was their music that well I know 
There can never again in my soul be space 
For a sound of ill. 

The light died out as the sunset dies 

In the western skies; 

Swift went we to the Bethlehem khan, 

Many our questions laughed to scorn, 

But one, a gray and wrinkled man, 

With strange, deep eyes that searched the heart, 

Led us down to the child new-born 

In a dim-lighted cave apart. 



Ill 



There on the straw the mother lay 

Wan and white, 

But her look was so holy and rapt and mild 

That it seemed to shed a marvellous light, 

Faint as the first rare gleam of day. 

Around the child. 

It was as other children are 

Saving for something in the eyes, 

Starlike and clear and strangely wise — 

Then came a sudden thought to me 

Of a lamb I had found on the waste afar ; 

Lost and sick with hunger and cold, 

I had brought it back in my arms to the fold 

For tender ministry. 

Dawn had flooded the east as a wave 

When we left the cave; 

All the world suddenly seemed to be 

Young and pure and joyous again; 

The others lingered to talk with the men, 

Full of wonder and rapture still; 

But I hastened back to the fold on the hill 

To tend the lamb that had need of me. 



112 



IF MARY HAD KNOWN 

If Mary had known 

When she held her Babe's hands in her own — 

Little hands that were tender and white as a rose, - 

All dented with dimples from finger to wrist, 

Such as mothers have kissed — ' 

That one day they must feel the fierce blows 

Of a hatred insane, 

Must redden with holiest stain. 

And grasp as their guerdon the boon of the bitterest 

pain, 
Oh, I think that her sweet, brooding face 
Must have blanched with its anguish of knowledge 

above her embrace. 

But — if Mary had known. 
As she held her Babe's hands in her own. 
What a treasure of gifts to the world they would bring; 
What healing and hope to the hearts that must ache. 
And without him must break; 

Had she known they would pluck forth death's sting 
And set open the door 
Of the close, jealous grave evermore. 
Making free who were captives in sorrow and dark- 
ness before. 
Oh, I think that a gracious sunrise 
Of rapture had broken across the despair of her eyes! 



113 



If Mary had known 

As she sat with her baby alone, 

And guided so gently his bare little feet 

To take their first steps from the throne of her knee, 

How weary must be 

The path that for them should be meet ; 

And how it must lead 

To the cross of humanity's need. 

Giving hissing and shame, giving blame and reproach 

for its meed. 
Oh, I think that her tears would have dewed 
Those dear feet that must walk such a hard, starless 

way to the Rood! 

But — if Mary had known. 

As she sat with her Baby alone. 

On what errands of mercy and peace they would go. 

How those footsteps would ring through the years of 

all time 
With an echo sublime. 
Making holy the land of their woe. 
That the pathway they trod 
Would guide the world back to its God, 
And lead ever upward away from the grasp of the clod, 
She had surely forgot to be sad 
And only remembered to be most immortally glad ! 



114 



If Mary had known, 
As she held him so closely, her own, 
Cradling his shining, fair head on her breast, 
Sunned over with ringlets as bright as the morn, 
That a garland of thorn 
On that tender brow would be pressed 
Till the red drops would fall 
Into eyes that looked out upon all, 
Abrim with a pity divine over clamor and brawl, 
Oh, I think that her lullaby song 
Would have died on her lips into wailing impassioned 
and long! 

But — if Mary had known. 
As she held him so closely, her own. 
That over the darkness and pain he would be 
The Conqueror hailed in all oncoming days. 
The world's hope and praise. 
And the garland of thorn. 
The symbol of mocking and scorn 
Would be a victorious diadem royally worn. 
Oh, I think that ineffable joy 

Must have flooded her soul as she bent o'er her won- 
derful Boy! 



115 



AT THE LONG SAULT 

("Searching the pile of corpses the victors found four French- 
men still breathing. Three had scarcely a spark of life . 
the fourth seemed likely to survive and they reserved him for 
future torments." 

Parkman's History.) 

A PRISONER under the stars I lie, 

With no friend near; 

To-morrow they lead me forth to die, 

The stake is ready, the torments set, 

They will pay in full their deadly debt ; 

But I fear them not ! Oh, none could fear 

Of those who stood by Daulac's side — 

While he prayed and laughed and sang and fought 

In the very reek of death — and caught 

The martyr passion that flamed from his face 

As he died ! 

Where he led us we followed glad. 

For we loved him well; 

Some there were that held him mad. 

But we knew that a heavenly rage had place 

In that dauntless soul; the good God spake 

To us through him ; we had naught to do 

Save only obey; and when his eyes 

Flashed and kindled like storm-swept skies, 

And his voice like a trumpet thrilled us through, 

We would have marched with delight for his sake 

To the jaws of hell. 



116 



The mists hung blue and still on the stream 

At the marge of dawn ; 

The rapids laughed till we saw their teeth 

Like a snarling wolf's fangs glisten and gleam; 

Sweetly the pine trees underneath 

The shadows slept in the moonlight wan; 

Sweetly beneath the steps of the spring 

The great, grim forest was blossoming ; 

And we fought, that springs for other men 

Might blossom again. 

Faint, thirst-maddened we prayed and fought 

By night and by day ; 

Eyes glared at us with serpent hate — 

Yet sometimes a hush fell, and then we heard naught 

Save the wind's shrill harping far away. 

The piping of birds, and the softened calls 

Of the merry, distant water-falls; 

Then of other scenes we thought — 

Of valleys beloved in sunny France, 

Purple vineyards of song and dance, 

Hopes and visions roseate; 

Of many a holy festal morn. 

And many a dream at vesper bell — 

But anon the shuddering air was torn 

By noises such as the fiends of hell 

Might make in holding high holiday! 

Once, so bitter the death-storm hailed. 

We shrank and quailed. 



117 



Daulac sprang out before us then, 
Shamed in our fears; 
Glorious was his face to see, 
The face of one who listens and hears 
Voices unearthly, summonings high — 
Rang his tone like a clarion, "Men, 
See yonder star in the golden sky. 
Such a man's duty is to him, 
A beacon that will not flicker nor dim, 
Shining through darkness and despair. 
Almost the martyr's crown is yours! 
Thinking the price too high to be paid. 
Will you leave the sacrifice half made? 
I tell you God will answer the prayer 
Of the soul that endures! 

'^Comrades, far in the future I see 

A mighty land ; 

Throned among the nations of earth. 

Noble and happy, calm and free ; 

As a veil were lifted I see her stand, 

And out of that future a voice to me 

Promises that our names shall shine 

On the page of her story with lustre divine 

Impelling to visions and deeds of worth. 



118 



"Ever thus since the world was begun, 
When a man hath given up his Hfe, 
Safety and freedom have been won 
By the holy power of self-sacrifice ; 
For the memory of your mother's kiss 
Valiantly stand to the breach again. 
Comrades, blench not now from the strife, 
Quit you like men !" 

Oh, we rushed to meet at our captain's side 

Death as a bride! 

All our brave striplings bravely fell. 

I, less fortunate, slowly came 

Back from that din of shot and yell 

Slowly and gaspingly, to know 

A harder fate reserved for me 

Than that brief, splendid agony. 

Through many a bitter pang and throe 

My spirit must to-morrow go 

To seek my comrades; but I bear 

The tidings that our desperate stand 

By the Long Sault has saved our land. 

And God has answered Daulac's prayer. 



119 



THE EXILE 

We told her that her far off shore was bleak and dour 

to view, 
And that her sky was dull and mirk while ours was 

smiling blue. 
She only sighed in answer, "It is even as ye say, 
But oh, the ragged splendor when the sun bursts 

through the gray!" 

We brought her dew-wet roses from our fairest sum- 
mer bowers, 

We bade her drink their fragrance, we heaped her lap 
with flowers; 

She only said, with eyes that yearned, "Oh, if ye might 
have brought 

The pale, unscented blossoms by my father's lowly 
cot!" 

We bade her listen to the birds that sang so madly 
sweet. 

The lyric of the laughing stream that dimpled at our 
feet; 

"But, O," she cried, "I weary for the music wild that 
stirs 

When keens the mournful western wind among my na- 
tive firs!" 



120 



We told her she had faithful friends and loyal hearts 

anear, 
We prayed her take the fresher loves, we prayed her 

be of cheer; 
"Oh, ye are kind and true," she wept, "but woe's me 

for the grace 
Of tenderness that shines upon my mother's wrinkled 

face!" 



121 



THE THREE SONGS 

The poet sang of a battle-field 

Where doughty deeds were done, 
Where stout blows rang on helm and shield 

And a kingdom's fate was spun 
With the scarlet thread of victory, 
And honor from death's grim revelry 

Like a flame-red flower was won! 
So bravely he sang that all who heard 
With the sting of the fight and the triumph were 

stirred. 
And they cried, *'Let us blazon his name on high, 
He has sung a song that will never die!" 

Again, full throated, he sang of fame 

And ambition's honeyed lure, 
Of the chaplet that garlands a mighty name, 
Till his listeners fired with the god-like flam.e 

To do, to dare, to endure! 
The thirsty lips of the world were fain 
The cup of glamor he vaunted to drain. 
And the people murmured as he went by, 
"He has sung a song that will never die !" 

And once more he sang, all low and apart, 
A song of the love that was born in his heart, 
Thinking to voice in unfettered strain 
Its sweet delight and its sweeter pain; 



m 



Nothing he cared what the throngs might say 
Who passed him unheeding from day to day, 
For he only longed with his melodies 
The soul of the one beloved to please. 

The song of war that he sang is as naught, 

For the field and its heroes are long forgot. 

And the song he sang of fame and power 

Was never remembered beyond its hour! 

Only to-day his name is known 

By the song he sang apart and alone, 

And the great world pauses with joy to hear 

The notes that were strung for a lover's ear. 



123 



IN AN OLD TOWN GARDEN 

Shut from the clamor of the street 
By an old wall with lichen grown, 

It holds apart from jar and fret 
A peace and beauty all its own. 

The freshness of the springtime rains 
And dews of morning linger here; 

It holds the glow of summer noons 
And ripest twilights of the year. 

Above its bloom the evening stars 
Look down at closing of the day, 

And in its sweet and shady walks 

Winds spent with roaming love to stray,' 

Upgathering to themselves the breath 
Of wide-blown roses white and red. 

The spice of musk and lavender 
Along its winding alleys shed. 

Outside are shadeless, troubled streets 
And souls that quest for gold and gain. 

Lips that have long forgot to smile 
And hearts that burn and ache with pain. 



124 



But here is all the sweet of dreams, 
The grace of prayer, the boon of rest, 

The spirit of old songs and loves 
Dwells in this garden blossom-blest. 

Here would I linger for a space. 
And walk herein with memory; 

The world will pass me as it may 
And hope will minister to me. 



125 



THE SEEKER 

I SOUGHT for my happiness over the world, 

Oh, eager and far was my quest; 
I sought it on mountain and desert and sea, 

I asked it of east and of west. 
I sought it in beautiful cities of men, 

On shores that were sunny and blue. 
And laughter and lyric and pleasure were mine 

In palaces wondrous to view; 
Oh, the world gave me much to my plea and my prayer 
But never I found aught of happiness there! 

Then I took my way back to a valley of old 

And a little brown house by a rill. 
Where the winds piped all day in the sentinel firs 

That guarded the crest of the hill ; 
I went by the path that my childhood had known 

Through the bracken and up by the glen. 
And I paused at the gate of the garden to drink 

The scent of sweet-briar again ; 
The homelight shone out through the dusk as of yore 
And happiness waited for me at the door! 



126 



THE POETS THOUGHT 

It came to him in rainbow dreams, 
Blent with the wisdom of the sages, 
Of spirit and of passion born; 
In words as lucent as the morn 
He prisoned it, and now it gleams 
A jewel shining through the ages. 



127 



THE CALL 

Mother of her who is close to my heart 

Cease to chide! 

For no small thing must I wander afar 

From the tender arms and lips of my bride — 

My love with eyes like the glowing star 

In the twilight sky apart. 

Coulds't thou have seen Him standing there 

Ere the day was born, 

With the mild high look that was like a prayer, 

Thou woulds't not marvel that I must leave all 

I hold most dear to answer the call 

Of that wonderful morn. 

We were casting our nets in the sea, 
Andrew and I; 

Over the mountains a young wind came 
To kiss the waters of Galilee, 
And in the calm blue northern sky 
The gleaming crest of old Hermon rose 
Girt with its diadem of snows. 
And the east was smit with flame. 

All our thoughts were simple and glad 

As toilers' should be; 

Andrew, that careless, dark-eyed lad 

Sang a song right merrily, 

Joyous of melody and word, 

As he worked with oar and net and sail, 



128 



But I dreamed of the face that would bkish and pale 
When my step should be heard ! 

Then, as we lifted heedless eyes, 

We saw Him there. 

Where the silver waters curled on the shore ; 

Behind Him the radiance of the skies 

Shining over His long, fair hair 

Wreathed it as with a crown of light ; 

And oh, the grandeur and the grace 

Of that pale and kingly face — 

We were weary and hungered with toil of the night 

But we thought not of it more ! 

He looked upon us with eyes that must see 

Far in bur hearts past mortal ken ; 

All the delights of the world grew dim — 

Sweeter is seemed to suffer pain 

And wander, outcast of men with Him, 

Than share in another's joy and gain; 

Spake He thus royally, ''Come with me ; 

I will make you fishers of men." 

Mother of her who weeps at my side 

Cease to chide! 

Thou knowest not how that one word rings 

Ever by day and by night in my ear, 

I cannot hearken to olden things 

I cannot listen to hope or fear; 

Mother of her who is dearest of all, 

I must follow the Nazarene's call! 

129 



THE OLD HOME CALLS 

Come back to me, little dancing feet that roam the wide 

world o'er, 
I long for the lilt of your flying steps in my silent 

rooms once more; 
Come back to me, little voices gay with laughter and 

with song, 
Come back, little hearts beating high with hopes, I 

have missed and mourned you long. 

My roses bloom in my garden walks all sweet and wet 

with the dew, 
My lights shine down on the long hill road the waning 

twilights through, 
The swallows flutter about my eaves as in the years of 

old. 
And close about me their steadfast arms the lisping pine 

trees fold. 

But I weary for you at morn and eve, O, children of 

my love. 
Come back to me from your pilgrim ways, from the 

seas and plains ye rove, 
Come over the meadows and up the lane to my door 

set open wide, 
And sit ye down where the red light shines from my 

welcoming fireside. 



130 



I keep for you all your childhood dreams, your glad- 
ness and delights, 

The joy of days in the sun and rain, the sleep of care- 
free nights, 

All the sweet faiths ye have lost and sought again shall 
be your own, 

Darlings, come to my empty heart — I am old and still 
and alone! 



131 



GENIUS 

A HUNDRED generations have gone into its making, 
With all their love and tenderness, with all their 
dreams and tears; 
Their vanished joy and pleasure, their pain and their 
heart-breaking, 
Have colored this rare blossom of the long-unfruit- 
ful years. 

Their victory and their laughter for this have strong 
men given, 
For this have sweet, dead women paid in patience 
which survives — 
That a great soul might bring the world, as from the 
gate of heaven, 
All that was rich and beautiful in those forgotten 
lives. 



132 



LOVE'S PRAYER 

Beloved, this the heart I offer thee 

Is purified from old idolatry, 

From outworn hopes, and from the lingering stain 

Of passion's dregs, by penitential pain. 

Take thou it, then, and fill it up for me 
With thine unstinted love, and it shall be 
An earthy chalice that is made divine 
By its red draught of sacramental wine. 



133 



THE PRISONER 

I LASH and writhe against my prison bars, 

And watch with sullen eyes the gaping crowd . . 

Give me my freedom and the burning stars, 
The hollow sky, and crags of moonlit cloud ! 

Once I might range across the trackless plain, 

And roar with joy, until the desert air 
And wide horizons echoed it amain : 

I feared no foe, for I was monarch there ! 

I saw my shadow on the parching sand. 

When the hot sun had kissed the mountain's rim ; 

And when the moon rose o'er long wastes of land, 
I sought my prey by some still river's brim ; 

And with me my fierce love, my tawny mate, \ 
Meet mother of strong cubs, meet lion's bride . . 

We made our lair in regions desolate. 
The solitude of wildernesses wide. 

They slew her . . . and I watched the life-blood 
flow 

From her torn flank, and her proud eyes grow dim : 
I howled her dirge above her while the low, 

Red moon clomb up the black horizon's rim. 



134 



Me, they entrapped . . . cowards ! They did not 
dare 

To fight, as brave men do, without disguise. 
And face my unleashed rage ! The hidden snare 

Was their device to win an untamed prize. 

I am a captive . . . not for me the vast, 
White dome of sky above the Winding sand. 

The sweeping rapture of the desert blast 
Across long ranges of untrodden land! 

Yet still they fetter not my thought ! In dreams 
I, desert-born, tread the hot wastes once more. 

Quench my deep thirst in cool, untainted streams. 
And shake the darkness with my kingly roar! 



135 



COMPANIONED 

I WALKED to-day, but not alone, 

Adown a windy, sea-girt lea, 
For memory, spendthrift of her charm, 

Peopled the silent lands for me. 

The faces of old comradeship 

In golden youth were round my way. 

And in the keening wind I heard 
The songs of many an orient day. 

And to me called, from out the pines 
And woven grasses, voices dear. 

As if from elfin lips should fall 
The mimicked tones of yesteryear. 

Old laughter echoed o'er the leas 

And love-lipped dreams the past had kept, 
From wayside blooms like honeyed bees 

To company my wanderings crept. 

And so I walked, but not alone. 
Right glad companionship had I, 

On that gray meadow waste between 
Dim-litten sea and winnowed sky. 



136 



YOU 

Only a long, low-lying lane 

That follows to the misty sea, 
Across a bare and russet plain 

Where wild winds whistle vagrantly; 
I know that many a fairer path 

With lure of song and bloom may woo, 
But oh! I love this lonely strath 

Because it is so full of you. 

Here we have walked in elder years. 

And here your truest memories wait, 
This spot is sacred to your tears, 

That to your laughter dedicate; 
Here, by this turn, you gave to me 

A gem of thought that glitters yet. 
This tawny slope is graciously 

By a remembered smile beset. 

Here once you lingered on an hour 

When stars were shining in the west, 
To gather one pale, scented flower 

And place it smiling on your breast; 
And since that eve its fragrance blows 

For me across the grasses sere. 
Far sweeter than the latest rose, 

That faded bloom of yesteryear. 



137 



For me the sky, the sea, the wold, 

Have beckoning visions wild and fair, 
The mystery of a tale untold, 

The grace of an unuttered prayer. 
Let others choose the fairer path 

That winds the dimpling valley through, 
I gladly seek this lonely strath 

Companioned by my dreams of you. 



138 



UNRECORDED 

I LIKE to think of the many words 

The Master in his early days 

Must have spoken to them of Nazareth — 

Words not freighted with Hfe and death, 

Piercing through soul and heart like swords. 

But gracious greeting and grateful phrase, 

The simple speech 

That plain folk utter each to each. 

Ere over him too darkly lay 
The prophet shadow of Calvary, 
I think he talked in very truth 
With the innocent gayety of youth, 
Laughing upon some festal day, 
Gently, with sinless boyhood's glee. 

I think if he had ever said 

To a mother apart. 

Cradling her baby's shining head, 

'Thy man-child is strong of limb and heart,'* 

She must have been from that gladsome day 

Thrilled with enduring pride alway, 

Fearless of any future dread. 

Knowing the son upon her knee 

Worthy her pain and love would be. 



139 



Or if by the dusty wayside well, 

From the glare and heat 

Of the burning noon a wayfarer sought 

A moment's rest where the palm shade fell, 

And he said to him, 'The day is hot, 

And your road is rough for wandering feet," 

Then I think on his way the pilgrim went 

As one who has shared in a sacrament, 

Feeling no longer on him press 

The burden of his weariness. 

If he said to a maid, "The sunset lies 
Redly on Nazareth hills to-night," 
Each sunset of her life would bring 
A benedictive memory 
Of his haunting face and holy eyes ; 
Or if to a bridegroom thus in spring, 
"The wife of thy youth is fair and wise," 
So would she ever have seemed to be 
In her husband's sight. 

If he but bade a passing guest 
His meal to share. 
Would not the one so honored deem 
Himself of all most highly blessed. 
The food he ate heaven's manna rare? 
Or when he to a friend addressed 
A word of thanks for service done. 
Or homely, familiar favor, none 
Of richer recompense could dream. 



140 



No evangelist's golden pen 

Wrote them for us — 

The words of the Master to those he might meet 

By the carpenter's bench or in Nazareth street — 

But in them I think there well might be — 

It is surely sweet to fancy thus — 

All of the benediction for men 

All of the tender humanity, 

That leaven the words of his later age 

On the holy page. 



141 



WITH TEARS THEY BURIED YOU 
TO-DAY 

With tears they buried you to-day, 
But well I knew no turf could hold 
Your gladness long beneath the mould, 

Or cramp your laughter in the clay; 

I smiled while others wept for you 
Because I knew. 

And now you sit with me to-night 
Here in our old, accustomed place; 
Tender and mirthful is your face. 

Your eyes with starry joy are bright — 

Oh, you are merry as a song 
For love is strong ! 

They think of you as lying there 

Down in the churchyard grim and old ; 
They think of you as mute and cold, 
A wan, white thing that once was fair, 
With dim, sealed eyes that never may 
Look on the day.. 

But love cannot be coffined so 

In clod and darkness; it must rise 
And seek its own in radiant guise, 

With immortality aglow, 

Making of death's triumphant sting 
A little thing. 



142 



Ay, we shall laugh at those who deem 
Our hearts are sundered! Listen, sweet, 
The tripping of the wind's swift feet 
Along the by-ways of our dream. 
And hark the whisper of the rose 
Wilding that blows. 

Oh, still you love those simple things, 
And still you love them more with me ; 
The grave has won no victory ; 
It could not clasp your shining wings. 
It could not keep you from my side, 
Dear and my bride! 



143 



IN MEMORY OF "MAGGIE" 

A pussy-cat who was the household pet for seventeen years. 

Naught but a little cat, you say; 

Yet we remember her, 

A creature loving, loyal, kind, 

With merry, mellow purr; 

The faithful friend of many years, 

Shall we not give her meed of tears? 

Sleek-suited in her velvet coat. 

White-breasted and bright-eyed, 

Feeling when she was praised and stroked 

A very human pride; 

A quiet nook was sure to please 

Where she might take her cushioned ease. 

Little gray friend, we shall not feel 
Ashamed to grieve for you; 
Many we know of human-kind 
Are not so fond and true; 
Dear puss, in all the years to be 
We'll keep your memory loyally. 



144 



REALIZATION 

I SMILED with skeptic mocking where they told me 
you were dead, 
You of the airy laughter and lightly twinkling feet ; 
"They tell a dream that haunted a chill gray dawn," I 
said, 
"Death could not touch or claim a thing so vivid and 
so sweet!" 

I looked upon you coffined amid your virgin flowers, 
But even that white silence could bring me no belief : 
"She lies in maiden sleep," I said, "and in the young- 
ling hours 
Her sealed dark eyes will open to scorn our foolish 
grief." 

But when I went at moonrise to our ancient trysting 

place 

And, oh, the wind was keening in the fir-boughs 
overhead ! . . . . 
And you came never to me with your little gypsy face. 
Your lips and hands of welcome, I knew that you 
were dead! 



145 
10 



THE GARDEN IN WINTER 

Frosty-white and cold it lies 
Underneath the fretful skies; 
Snowflakes flutter where the red 
Banners of the poppies spread, 
And the drifts are wide and deep 
Where the lilies fell asleep. 

But the sunsets o'er it throw 
Flame-like splendor, lucent glow, 
And the moonshine makes it gleam 
Like a wonderland of dream, 
And the sharp winds all the day- 
Pipe and whistle shrilly gay. ^ 

Safe beneath the snowdrifts lie 
Rainbow buds of by-and-by; 
In the long, sweet days of spring 
Music of bluebells shall ring. 
And its faintly golden cup 
Many a primrose will hold up. 

Though the winds are keen and chill 
Roses' hearts are beating still, 
And the garden tranquilly 
Dreams of happy hours to be — 
In the summer days of blue 
All its dreamings will come true. 



146 



THE DIFFERENCE 

When we were together, heart of my heart, on that 

un forgotten quest, 
With your tender arm about me thrown and your head 

upon my breast, 
There came a grief that was bitter and deep and 

straitly dwell with me, 
And I shunned it not, so sweet it was to suffer and be 

with thee. 

And now when no more against mine own is beating 

thine eager heart. 
When thine eyes are turned from the glance of mine 

and our ways are far apart, 
A dear and long-sought joy has come my constant 

guest to be. 
And I love it not, so bitter it is, unfelt, unshared, by 

thee. 



147 



THE POET 

There was strength in him and the weak won freely 
from it, 
There was an infinite pity, and hard hearts grew soft 
thereby. 
There was truth so unshrinking and starry-shining, 
Men read clear by its light and learned to scorn a lie. 

His were songs so full of a wholesome laughter 

Those whose courage was ashen found it once more 
aflame, 
His was a child-like faith and wandering feet were 
guided. 
His was a hope so joyous despair was put to shame. 

His was the delicate insight and his the poignant vi- 
sion 
Whereby the world might learn what wine-lipped 
roses know. 
What a drift of rain might lisp on a gray sea-dawn- 
ing. 
Or a pale spring of the woodland babble low. 



148 



He builded a castle of dream and a palace of rainbow 
fancy, 
And the starved souls of his fellows lived in them 
and grew glad; — 
And yet — there were those who mocked the gifts of 
his generous giving, 
And some — but he smiled and forgave them — who 
deemed him wholly mad! 



149 



THE MOTHER 

Here I lean over you, small son, sleeping 

Warm in my arms, 

And I con to my heart all your dew-fresh charms, 

As you lie close, close in my hungry hold . . . 

Your hair like a miser's dream of gold. 

And the white rose of your face far fairer, 

Finer, and rarer 

Than all the flowers in the young year's keeping; 

Over lips half parted your low breath creeping 

Is sweeter than violets in April grasses ; 

Though your eyes are fast shut I can see their blue. 

Splendid and soft as starshine in heaven. 

With all the joyance and wisdom given 

From the many souls who have stanchly striven 

Through the dead years to be strong and true. 

Those fine little feet in my worn hands holden . . 

Where will they tread ? 

Valleys of shadow or heights dawn-red? 

And those silken fingers, O, wee, white son. 

What valorous deeds shall by them be done 

In the future that yet so distant is seeming 

To my fond dreaming? 

What words all so musical and golden 

With starry truth and poesy olden 



150 



Shall those lips speak in the years on-coming? 
O, child of mine, with waxen brow, 
Surely your words of that dim to-morrow 
Rapture and power and grace must borrow 
From the poignant love and holy sorrow 
Of the heart that shrines and cradles you now ! 

Some bitter day you will love another. 
To her will bear 

Love-gifts and woo her . . . then must I share 
You and your tenderness ! Now you are mine 
From your feet to your hair so golden and fine, 
And your crumpled finger-tips . . . mine com- 
pletely, 
Wholly and sweetly; 
Mine with kisses deep to smother. 
No one so near to you now as your mother ! 
Others may hear your words of beauty, 
But your precious silence is mine alone; 
Here in my arms I have enrolled you. 
Away from the grasping world I fold you. 
Flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone ! 



151 



TO ONE HATED 

"Hate is only Love that has missed its way." 

Had it been when I came to the valley where the paths 
parted asunder, 
Chance had led my feet to the way of love, not hate, 
I might have cherished you well, have been to you fond 
and faithful. 
Great as my hatred is, so might my love have been 
great. 

Each cold word of mine might have been a kiss im- 
passioned, 
Warm with the throb of my heart, thrilled with my 
pulse's leap, 
And every glance of scorn, lashing, pursuing, and 
stinging. 
As a look of tenderness would have been wondrous 
and deep. 

Bitter our hatred is, old and strong and unchanging. 
Twined with the fibres of life, blent with body and 
soul. 
But as its bitterness, so might have been our love's 
sweetness 
Had it not missed the way — strange missing and sad ! 
— to its goal. 



152 



WHILE THE FATES SLEEP 

Come, let us to the sunways of the west, 
Hasten, while crystal dews the rose-cups fill. 

Let us dream dreams again in our blithe quest 
O'er whispering wold and hill. 

Castles of air yon wimpling valleys keep 

Where milk-white mist steals from the purpling sea, 
They shall be ours in the moon's wizardry, 

While the fates, wearied, sleep. 

The viewless spirit of the wind will sing 
In the soft starshine by the reedy mere. 

The elfin harps of hemlock boughs will ring 
Fitfully far and near; 

The fields will yield their trove of spice and musk. 
And balsam from the glens of pine will fall. 
Till twilight weaves its tangled shadows all 

In one dim web of dusk. 

Let us put tears and memories away, 

While the fates sleep time stops for revelry ; 

Let us look, speak, and kiss as if no day 
Has been or yet will be ; 

Let us make friends with laughter 'neath the moon, 
With music on the immemorial shore. 
Yea, let us dance as lovers danced of yore — 

The fates will waken soon! 



153 



THE FAREWELL 

He rides away with sword and spur, 

Garbed in his warlike blazonry, 
With gallant glance and smile for her 

Upon the dim-lit balcony. 
Her kiss upon his lips is warm, 

Upon his breast he wears her rose. 
From her fond arms to stress and storm 

Of many a bannered field he goes. 

He dreams of danger, glory, strife. 

His voice is blithe, his hand is strong, 
He rides perchance to death from life 

And leaves his lady with a song; 
But her blue-brimmed eyes are dim 

With her deep anguish standing there. 
Sending across the world with him 

The dear, white guerdon of her prayer. 

For her the lonely vigil waits 

When ashen dawnlights come and go, 
Each bringing through the future's gates 

Its presages of fear and woe; 
For her the watch with soul and heart 

Grown sick with dread, as women may, 
Yet keeping still her pain apart 

From the wan duties of the day. 



154 



*Tis hers to walk when sunsets yield 

Their painted splendors to the skies, 
And dream on some far battlefield 

Perchance alone, unwatched, he dies; 
Tis hers to kneel in patient prayer 

When midnight stars keep sentinel. 
Lest the chill death-dews damp the hair 

Upon the brow she loves so well. 

So stands she, white and sad and sweet, 

Upon the latticed balcony, 
From golden hair to slender feet 

No lady is so fair as she ; 
He loves her true, he holds her dear. 

But he must ride on dangerous quest, 
With gallant glance and smile of cheer, 

And her red rose upon his breast. 



155 



THE OLD MAN'S GRAVE 

Make it where the winds may sweep 
Through the pine boughs soft and deep, 
And the murmur of the sea 
Come across the orient lea, 
And the falling raindrops sing 
Gently to his slumbering. 

Make it where the meadows wide 
Greenly lie on every side. 
Harvest fields he reaped and trod, 
Westering slopes of clover sod, 
Orchard lands where bloom and blow 
Trees he planted long ago. 

Make it where the starshine dim 
May be always close to him, 
And the sunrise glory spread 
Lavishly around his bed. 
And the dewy grasses creep 
Tenderly above his sleep. 

Since these things to him were dear 
Through full many a well-spent year. 
It is surely meet their grace 
Should be on his resting-place. 
And the murmur of the sea 
Be his dirge eternally. 



156 



FOREVER 

I 

With you I shall ever be; 

Over land and sea 

My thoughts will companion you; 

With yours shall my laughter chime, 

And my step keep time 

In the dusk and dew 

With yours in blithesome rhyme; 

In all of your joy shall I rejoice, 

On my lips your sorrow shall find a voice, 

And when your tears in bitterness fall 

Mine shall mingle with them all ; 

With you in waking and dream I shall be. 

In the place of shadow and memory. 

Under young springtime moons. 

And on harvest noons, 

And when the stars are withdrawn 

From the white pathway of the dawn. 

II 

O, my friend, nothing shall ever part 

My soul from yours, yours from my heart ! 

I am yours and you mine, in silence and in speech, 

Death will only seal us each to each. 

Through the darkness we shall fare with fearless jest, 

Starward we shall go on a joyous new quest; 

There be many worlds, as we shall prove. 

Many suns and systems, but only one love! 

157 



BY AN AUTUMN FIRE 

Now at our casement the wind is shrilling, 

Poignant and keen 

And all the great boughs of the pines between 

It is harping a lone and hungering strain 

To the eldritch weeping of the rain; 

And then to the wild, wet valley flying 

It is seeking, sighing, 

Something lost in the summer olden. 

When night was silver and day was golden; 

But out on the shore the waves are moaning 

With ancient and never fulfilled desire. 

And the spirits of all the empty spaces. 

Of all the dark and haunted places, 

With the rain and the wind on their death-white faces. 

Come to the lure of our leaping fire. 

But we bar them out with this rose-red splendor 

From our blithe domain. 

And drown the whimper of wind and rain 

With undaunted laughter, echoing long, 

Cheery old tale and gay old song; 

Ours is the joyance of ripe fruition, 

Attained ambition. 

Ours is the treasure of tested loving. 

Friendship that needs no further proving; 



158 



W14 7 



No more of springtime hopes, sweet and uncertain, 
Here we have largess of summer in fee — 
Pile high the logs till the flame be leaping, 
At bay the chill of the autumn keeping, 
While pilgrim-wise, we may go a-reaping 
In the fairest meadow of memory! 



159 



Warwick Bro's & Rutter, Limited, Printers and Bookbinders, Toronto, Canada. 



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